


Ghost Bride

by Iforgottocall



Series: The Pureblood Problem [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #hea, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Hermione Granger, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Murder Mystery, Mystery, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance, Unspeakable Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2020-10-28 21:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iforgottocall/pseuds/Iforgottocall
Summary: After Draco Malfoy’s untimely passing, Hermione Granger  hops head first into the fray. He may be gone but his soul begs for sacrifice or as some people may call it, a wife.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter has been revised for clarity and structure but nothing really changes in the story itself. I am still inspecting it for errors!

She was saddened to hear of Draco Malfoy’s death. She could not explain why those obituary words stuck in her throat as if she’d eaten a large wad of taffy without water. She felt slightly itchy and ready to choke. She rubbed at her stinging eyes with confusion. She and the boy had been embittered, school yard rivals; those years were not easily dismissed and yet she had knocked back tears for him.

She’d seen the news on the fourth page of the “serious” wizarding reporting newspaper-a new authentic title that was spooned onto all things nowadays. Everything required an identifying monocure to make it authentic now. So much so that reality itself was yet another package to be rewrapped and sold as the new, more real reality. Yet another consequence of a dark evil threatening society to extinction. Voldemort’s influence could never truly die in the hearts of a post-war world.

Sins would always bleed into the soil and this time the thing that flowered was a need to prove that existence was a shared, agreed upon set of dictations. The post war world assurance that what was real for one wizard was real for them all. A collective belief...a collective understanding of the world that bars wizards from splintering into factions and camps that believe this truth over that truth over another. Now, the world as a whole was intent on believing one singular truth that everyone could agree on no matter the consequences. No matter that it killed the idea of the “individual”. The collective was all that mattered now. 

So, she did not question the “truth” of this backpage news story. It was salacious and full of gossip that hinted at a shocking cause of death, but she had no doubt of its core truth. He had died and, perhaps in the most unforgivable way for a beautiful young man to die, at his own thin hands. With so few virile young men to repopulate the desolate and devastated population, this was a death that even she could not forgive. There was one less man roaming the streets providing romance to a broken generation. 

His death would have been the front page headline even one year prior but now it was relegated to the forgotten pages of the “authentic” news rags right behind the adverts peddling Mrs. Honeycutt’s “Newly Improved and Absolutely NOT Combustible Wart Removal Potion”. Hermione could almost imagine Malfoy’s affronted face as he realized that his death was of so little importance that it was placed after such a hackneyed product and she found herself sniggering until she cried again. A couple looked at her oddly as they passed by her and she remembered she was sitting on a park bench looking very much like an utter loon. She dried her face and looked around. The world was still going on as if something monumental had not just happened. The indomitable Draco Malfoy was dead and no one seemed particularly off kilter about it. The world continued to spin as normal and she couldn’t help but feel as though something had been irretrievably lost.

The world was too broken to care anymore. It was searching for meaning in mighty heroes and impossible feats of magical defiance. The media did not have the publishing budget to focus on the death of a has-been. The days of admiring the rich and famous had been strangled out in lieu of a culture clinging desperately to magical super men who could save the world with a swish of their electric wands. There was simply no use for glitz and glamour when the world was too busy sewing itself up into a super mass of collective idealism. And for that reason she wept. For the horrid days of the dark and the horrid days in this new light.

Still sitting on the park bench, Hermione stashed away the offending newspaper and pulled out her weekly planner in hopes of shaking off her melancholy. She reviewed her speaking engagements and scheduled appearances coming up in the next few days and could barely find a moment to even go to work. She had been in a listless swamp of banquets and interviews that all seemed to be laser focused on her insurmountable fame and her even more larger than life friends. She knew that all three of them were bombarded with requests, invitations, ribbon cuttings, endorsement deals and the like. Each member of the Trio handled it on their own messed up terms.

Ron, surprisingly, was the recluse. Harry had Ginny to pull him from the dark cupboard of his mind into the more acceptable darkness of merchandised selfhood. Harry could often be found skulking about at auction halls as the top prize for The Society of Orphaned Web-Winged Toad’s Charity or some other such nonsense. 

Sadly, Ron had only himself and a forgetful Hermione to push him through the glittering flashes of lonely fame. And, for her part, she could not be the backbone of the trio anymore; she couldn’t be Ron’s backbone anymore. Ron slipped and drowned under the world’s crushing wave of adoration and Hermione was unsteady against its tide. Ron was unable to piece together a version of himself that wasn’t muddled by hero-worship and unrealistic expectations; his search for meaning and identity was suffocated by the public’s need for an unscarred hero. She was no better.

Hermione felt shaky and unable to make appropriate decisions anymore. It was too difficult to be intelligent for public display. It hurt too much to be the glue. Ginny attempted to take Hermione’s mantle but was unable to understand Hermione’s essential (and unspoken), primary function, was unable to hold the flaying group together. Hermione was the irreplaceable piece. At least in that Hermione was vindicated.

The trio still met religiously but their bond was a captain-less vessel left unanchored so that each member buffeted against the great sea with no strong leader to steer them back oncourse. And for that, Hermione was terribly anguished. Part of being on a leaderless ship entailed finding one’s self in vast galley of unawareness and floating into oblivion. She hated that she could not be the leader her men needed. She hated that Draco Malfoy had most certainly felt as adrift as she did with no one to pull him back to safety. He was another lonely vessel left to float alone. Hermione felt somehow as responsible for his lack of guidance as she did with her own boys; if she were more “The Hermione Granger” that the world wanted her to be then none of this would have happened.

Hermione stashed her planner back in her bag and picked up the crumpled newspaper again. She told herself to leave it- leave him on the bench and go about her day but she couldn’t. She turned to his page again to stare at his obituary photo. It was him in what she assumed was his family’s immense gardens. He was standing behind his mother as she sat primly on a garden chaise lounge. He was wearing a perfectly tailored set of summer dress robes and his face was set in a serious expression. He looked every bit the perfect English aristocrat but his hands told a different story. They clutched the back of his mother’s chair like claws as if he were as light as air and could simply float away with the slightest provocation if he did not clamp himself to something tangible. Hermione wondered how many years he’d been clutching on to humanity before he finally let it go.

The church bells from Saint Maria’s began ringing in the new hour and Hermione was broken from her reverie. It was almost 8 am and she was going to be late for work. She reached for her caffeinated tea and vacated the bench, heading for her job. She attempted throwing the newspaper in the rubbish bin near her bench but was unable to actually do it. She sighed as her hands trembled over the rubbish bin with the paper in hand. Hermione bit her lip before snatching up that page and ripping it out of the paper. She folded into the tiniest piece that she could before slipping it into her bag for safe keeping. He was more than a printed piece of paper but this was all she could do for him now. It was the least she could do to save him from the rubbish keep. 

Satisfied with her decision, she threw the rest of the paper away and hurried as quickly as her sensible shoes could carry her. She refused to apparate or use some other magical convenience to make up time. She straddled a life on the edges of society. She remained a full witch but spent much of her time commuting to a small muggle village where she relished in old books and manuscripts. She was fully aware that she was wasting away her intelligence and it hurt her deeply and yet she was too unhappy to excel further. She could not wrestle up the resolve to do more, be more. That perseverance had been strangled out of her at 18 when she saw what the world really was. 

……………………………………………………...

She did not go to the Burrow anymore as a point of contention despite constant pleas and veiled threats. She could not participate in a happy mirage while her parents fell into oblivion. She knew she should not and yet she could not stop herself. She spied on them obsessively with a crackling cauldron in her small flat on the east end. They were unhappy. They could not remember their daughter or their respective siblings, cousins and college mates. And yet, they were not complete. Despite the unnamed or unremembered lives that had been spirited away from them, their spirits knew of loss. They could not be truly happy together but without other relatives to rely on, they could not be apart.

She watched them yell at each other, unhinged and unsure, never knowing what missing pieces were haunting their lost souls. They could not get close to each other and yet they could not walk away. They pushed and pulled and tried to rebuild lives they did not remember. They argued about eating sweets without knowing why, they complained about the British royals and parliamentary politics with such emotion that it frightened them. They weren’t actually British so why did they care, they’d seem to say silently to themselves. Those confused glances and far away looks crushed Hermione. She watched them scream together and fumble apart. She often slapped the cauldron to the ground. Watching the cackling brown liquid coat her floorboards. She did not sleep anymore.

She soon realized that with no parents and no Weasleys, her life was rather small. She often found herself staring at the walls without any true knowledge of the passage of time. Hermione had been in a daze for several years now. She sometimes heard a woman screaming in the darkness as she lay awake at night. She always shuddered when she recognized the voice as her own. 

And just like that, a miracle or curse depending on the perspective, slammed into her life and changed everything. A missive of all things woke her from her sticky stupor. An invitation to meet a beseeching acquaintance. Daphne Greengrass-Goyle wanted her to come to tea. “What the fresh hell?” Hermione thought as the small, decadent invitation floated in her hands as the carrier owl feverishly flew away from her. 

The invitation requested her presence on Sunday at midday. She hated the vague sense of casual formality. Why not be frank and say noon or one o’clock? Midday seemed like an inside joke for the fabulously wealthy who intrinsically knew when to show up somewhere and when to depart. She, not being of that class, was unsure of what time midday could mean to such people and she was annoyed that she wasn’t sure. She found it odd that she was more annoyed by their casual timeliness than the invitation itself.

She knew that she should not bother to attend. But her curiosity had not been peaked like this in so long. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit a tiny thrill about the invitation. It was a chance to break up the monotony eating away at her days. She only broke up her routine for weddings and funerals and the overabundance of pregnancy celebrations. Those were all things that happened to other people and she was always on the smiling periphery- celebratory but aloof and adrift. 

The short note was specifically crafted to ensure that Hermione would be too interested to decline a meeting. And it read as follows:

_ “A good morning to you Miss Hermione. I know that this may be untoward and rather abrupt, but I hope this letter finds you well. I cannot claim much familiarity with you as we hardly interacted as children and yet we of this generation all have a shared past that makes such formalities feel slightly unnecessary. I digress because that is a topic for another occasion. _

_ Now to my point: I have come into contact with a rare item. I have heard that your expertise would be of extreme use in deciphering the properties of said item. I am having tea in the garden this Sunday at midday. It would greatly please me to have your company and expert opinion on such a unique find. You, of course, would be well compensated for your time._

_ Etc etc, _

_ Daphne Greengrass-Goyle. “_

Despite the rather abrupt tone and the large possibility that this “rare item” was nothing more than a muggle cassette tape (truly a relic these days), she was interested. The note had a red gummy substance on the bottom. She had only seen such a thing once before when she still worked in the ministry. She found it a mixture of arrogance and acceptance that Daphne had not bothered to explain what it meant to her in the note. Despite being muggle-born, Daphne knew that Hermione would understand its significance despite not knowing her at all. 

Hermione felt soft fur pass over her bare feet and she started. The cat had brought her back to the current moment and she realized that she was only partly dressed for work. She finished up her morning procedures with heart beating faster than it had in awhile. She debated all day if she should tell her two best friends about the strange morning note.

She told them of course. They were her family now-all broken and busted up like all the other familial relations in the world. Harry, long past the point of surprise, was the first to suggest that perhaps she should go and see what all the fuss was about even if only for a chuckle. He’d known how monotonous life had been these past few years. The daily schedules and routines were relentless especially for him, young father, who no longer tangled with adventure and disaster. 

Her other best friend was a different sort entirely. Ron had grown so distrustful of almost everyone from their previous life that he strictly forbade her acceptance. His face was deep red and he sputtered angrily that anyone could think this was a good idea (with a few curses peppered throughout to emphasize his disapproval). 

Ginny gave him a strong look and he crumbled back into himself and murmured that “it’d be a shame to survive war only to be poisoned by a bloody Goyle”. Ginny, incensed with pregnant fire, verbally fired back at him. His look of dejection as his sister scolded him like a mother made Hermione almost want to intervene. His vehement rejection of the note was the biggest spark she’d seen in him in years. She felt a burning grow inside herself- a moment of craggy hate for his sister who doused his fire. Hermione immediately burned up with self reproach. Ginny didn’t deserve that anger.

She wrapped a pale arm around Ron’s threadbare body and kissed the spot beneath his ear quickly, as she used to do. He smiled at her with a flickering of flame of roguishness and she felt intense relief. Their love story ended before it ever got off the ground but the deep affection would never evaporate. Harry and Ginny, with hope still deep in their hearts, smiled at each other as she and Ron openly embraced. They always did when they saw the small flint of fire between Ron and her. They’d never stop believing that the two of them could save each other. Hermione and Ron knew it simply wasn’t true.

Ron walked her to the bus station after ending the evening with Harry and Ginny. They walked calmly together in the cool night. Ron complained lightly at the needlessness of walking when apparition was an option. “You’re a witch!” he’d tell her as if she’d forgotten. She’d shrugged not being able to voice the need to be a normal girl walking home from a night out with friends. He never understood her need to pretend to be average. 

They were walking through the square towards the bus line. It was a Thursday night and no one was around. She stopped walking abruptly and spun to kiss his neck again. He knew it was coming. It was always one of them who began this way. Right before reaching the statue in the center of the square, one of them would do it. She pressed her lips against his neck then nibbled. He bent down and ran a hand across her thin arms. They never kissed each others lips. They only nibbled at one another in an imitation of taking the other in. That was far as it ever went. This strange ritual of kissing and nibbling at necks and ears and throats. They dared each other to take it further- to hastily unzip each other but it never happened. It couldn’t be done. As she said, their love story wasn’t burning bright enough and never would. 

The clinging and sighing stopped with both of them breathless and reluctant. They pulled apart like repelling magnets. They did not discuss it. They walked onward with wet necks and flushed cheeks and with a clammy warmth in their bones- just enough heat to be noticeable and make them shiver with the sudden coldness of the air.

Sunday approached on swift feet. Hermione had been looking at the red gum paste off and on for an hour. She could not bring herself to press her finger to the past and she could not ignore it either. She wondered how it would feel under her finger. She needed to know how it would bind her. She threw up her hands and slouched away from the invitation. She took a few moments to dress in what could be considered acceptable garden attire. She left her wild hair unencumbered as she always did these days. No potions or spells to hide behind. That was not acceptable anymore. It was not real.

She paced and frumped about attempting to be caught up in some project that would make her forget the time and perhaps miss the engagement entirely under the guise of tricking herself. She found that she could not throw herself into anything with enough vigor and her interest in the tea party was too great to allow her to be distracted. 

At half past noon, She picked up the invitation and wrapped it back in its packaging. She was careful not to touch the red gum. She reluctantly apparated to the residence apparation point using the instructions on the back of the card. She was before the foreboding grounds too quickly. The home was large and old. Its gothic style old even compared to most wealthy families’ standards. It reminded her of a black painted pumpkin with sharp, jagged teeth. 

The front door opened at her approach and tall servant of indeterminable gender stood in the door’s shadow. The servant had two thick red lines tattooed at the base of the neck. They resembled the fat straight lines coloured markers made if you slanted the marker tip to the side. 

“Please allow me to welcome you to the gardens Miss Granger”. The voice was deeply masculine with a slippery quality to the tail end of his words. It was as if his mouth couldn’t grab the words before they glided out into the air. 

He waited for her to cross the threshold as his patient hands gestured towards an oddly country-chic door with old style wood grid pattern intersecting the window that led to a manicured garden. When she was fully inside, he began walking her over to the garden entrance and she surreptitiously looked about the humble hallway. The candles were unlit and the only light came in through the open shutters lining the foyer and adjoining hallways. There were very few specialty items or expensive furnishings on immediate display. She’d heard that the Greengrass family vaults had been greatly reduced in grandeur after the wartime reparations. However, she’d assumed that Daphne’s marriage to Gregory’s older brother would have secured the young woman a lifestyle more in keeping with her upbringing. 

Too quickly, she was back outdoors and walking through the lavish gardens. The gardens were the opposite of the inside decor and much more in line with Hermione’s vision of a wealthy homestead. The rose bushes were docile and clean while the large shrubs were perfectly sculpted into mythical creatures that looked both ferocious and heavily yoked. Close to the house was a large paved pavilion with luxury lawn furniture, gold hardware, modern lighting and table settings. 

In the center of the pavilion sat the beautiful lady of the manor wearing fashionable summer robes and large hat resembling that of a muggle royal. Next to Daphne was another woman, wearing an even larger summer hat that obscured her face. By the extreme softness of her hands, from too many moisturizing potions, Hermione guessed the other guest was a bit older than Daphne and Hermione. Daphne’s mother or aunt most likely. 

Hermione, upon seeing an unexpected second lady, felt her back stiffen. She had not expected anyone beyond Daphne and she couldn’t help feeling concerned. she reasoned that tea parties usually had multiple ladies in attendance and she should have been prepared and yet she was not ready to mingle. She had hoped to get down to the business of the mysterious item and be off rather soon after. She had a strong sense that it would not be a short affair after all. 

Daphne and the woman were speaking in low and slightly sharp tones but the conversation abruptly ended as the servant and Hermione approached. Daphne’s creased forehead smoothed instantly and her shoulders rolled back pleasantly. Hermione wished she was able to compose herself so quickly. She imagined it was learned in finishing school or perhaps it was simply bred into highborn women. 

The servant led her to the table and pulled out her seat. She sat quickly and looked down as the servant pushed her chair easily into the proper place. Without ceremony, he poured her tea and was off. She felt as if her security blanket was being ripped from her although she would not miss looking at the red stripes down his throat. They reminded her of congealed blood.

“Thank you Miss Granger for accepting my invitation”. Daphne said with an air of restrained politeness. Hermione responded in kind. Daphne inquired into the acceptability of the tea and Hermione assured her that it was lovely. A short silent erupted where the other woman’s opinions would need to be accounted for and yet neither the woman nor Daphne said anything. Right as Hermione began to feel the need to look over at the silent woman seated next to her, Daphne interjected.

“I must apologize that I have not introduced Mrs. Malfoy. It must seem impossibly rude but I believe she has fallen asleep and I was reluctant to wake her.” Hermione looked over and it did appear that Narcissa’s chin was resting on her chest. Her eyelids were closed but the eyes underneath appeared to be fluttering wildly. The discomfort at being seated next to Narcissa Malfoy was crackling. Her mudblood scar felt itchy and raw. Her legs felt restless in her seat. 

Daphne felt Hermione’s unease and hovered a soft hand above Hermione’s own tightly clasped fist. She did not actually touch Hermione, perhaps Daphne knew that would be an unwelcome feeling or perhaps touching a muggleborn was too far beyond the limit of civility. Hermione looked up at her with mild annoyance and wondered what sort of silly game this was. 

“I would like to know what I am doing here” Hermione said evenly. She wanted to be as calm as Daphne appeared to be. She wished she had the Slytherin talent for not showing her emotions. For some reason, Draco Malfoy’s stony face floated into her open mind as she thought this. 

Daphne, seeming to sense that she could quickly lose Hermione’s patience, made a decision. She placed her smooth, unworked hand atop Hermione’s and patted it gently. Daphne smiled reassuringly and seemed to say with her whole body that “You are safe here.” While Hermione did not appreciate the subtle bit of emotional manipulation, she relented and relaxed her body a bit. 

“I will not keep you long here. I know that the great Hermione Granger has never been one for long dalliances.” Hermione bristled at the unnecessary remark but remained silent. “To be honest, your business is not with me but with dear auntie who seems to be awake. I assure you that you will be intrigued if you’d stay a moment to listen.”

Narcissa Malfoy was stirring alongside her. Hermione, even more rankled that she had been duped into listening to the Malfoy woman, turned towards the older woman with narrowed eyes and a hand on her wand. Narcissa’s eyes were already appraising Hermione cautiously and they did not lose their edge when she realized the Hermione was waiting for her to begin.

“I imagine Daphne has already welcomed you to tea and solicited the necessary pleasantries.” Hermione started at the brisk overture always remembering Narcissa as a genteel, though prejudiced, lady. Hermione had not expected the business like manner with which Mrs. Malfoy addressed the room. 

“I’m sure you have heard that my son is no longer with us,” She began and Hermione attempted to stammer out a clunky condolence but was cut off as Narcissa continued, “Yes, yes thank you.”  
“What almost no one knows is that an amulet- that I nor anyone in my circle can account for.” Mrs. Malfoy stumbled slightly over her words as if saying them caused her to trip. “It was found wrapped tightly around his neck”. She finished out in a dignified rush. At Hermione’s stunned face, Daphnee quickly interjected.

“Draco left the world by his own means. The amulet was not used as a weapon. Auntie only meant that it was a choker style necklace.” Hermione nodded warily.

She could only wonder at what emotional pain had caused the young man to die by suicide. The wording also struck her, “left by his own means”. Hermione had heard various descriptions of completing suicide but that turn of phrase felt malingering. Wrong.

Narcissa continued where she had left off as if reading from a practiced script. Hermione found her steady resolve to finish her difficult story admirably sad. No parent should have to discuss the disturbing details of child’s death, especially to a young woman she barely knew or tolerated. Hermione could only wonder at how important this must be to Narcissa to reach out to Hermione of all people. 

“The amulet is of no origin that I could trace. I have had little luck understanding its properties or significance. I know that you spent some years training as an unspeakable but did not manage to complete your training.” Hermione clenched her jaw at yet another unnecessary slight but felt Daphne’s pleading eyes on her. 

“Yes, I did pursue that career for a time” Hermione stated in a clipped voice.

Narcissa blinked dismissively and said in a dry tone, “I wasn’t insinuating anything by it Ms. Granger. I was only stating common knowledge. '' Hermione remained silent.

Waving a hand, she went on. “My attempts to reach out to the Unspeakeables has been most difficult and I fear rather fruitless. I had hoped that your experience with them could be of service.They may look into it if you were to bring to them”.

“What makes you think the amulet is an item that would need to be researched by the Unspeakeables? Even if I were willing to use my contacts as you insinuate, they’d hardly stop their work for such a request.” Hermione sniffed knowingly. 

Narcissa narrowed her eyes like an eagle ready to pounce and Daphne cut in. “Our personal acquaintances cannot guess at its primary function or origin. We have been assured that the amulet exudes strong magic and was forged by creature of great power. The Malfoy family has an extensive purse collection of rare magical gemstones, literature and artifacts as you can no doubt guess. Naturally, they like many great families also have thorough records and ledgers detailing the collection’s contents and uses.”

“Naturally”, Hermione said dryly.

“Despite the ministries attempts to deplete them after that skirmish” Daphne continued bitterly. 

Hermione held back a growl. “Voldemort’s war was certainly not a skirmish” she said hotly. The privilege of such people was ingratiating. 

Narcissa smoothly cut the tension before it was able to build between the two young women. “I’d like to focus on my son.” Both women turned toward her and she continued. “There were no records of Draco purchasing what must be a rare charm in our banking ledgers and there is no explanation for such a thing to be on his person. It took several hours and numerous spells for the amulet to unclasp from his neck. I must know what it means.” 

“That is very odd” Hermione agreed with alarm, “however I cannot be sure that will be a priority for the Unspeakables”. 

Narcissa looked crestfallen and began clenching her hands. Hermione feared that Narcissa may begin to sob, “But, I will reach out to my contacts to inquire”. Hermione finished limply. 

Narcissa and Daphne looked relieved and slightly surprised. Daphne, as if afraid Hermione would change her mind, gestured to Narcissa to reveal something. Narcissa, with trembling fingers, reached into her pockets and produced red velvet box of exceptional quality. Hermione looked at with trepidation as Narcissa opened the small box. Inside lay a small necklace- too small to comfortably lay on a man’s neck but too large to be a bracelet. The necklace itself was made of spun gold that was weaved into circular patterns and thin lines. It reminded her of something a gothic heroine would wear on the cover of an old novel. At the base of the necklace sat a large bead made of swirling blacks, golds, reds and oranges. The colors moved and mixed on their own accord as if someone had scooped up an active potion and bottled it up in a glass container. She had never seen anything like it. The shifts and swivels of the colors happened at random and she found herself mesmerized by its unknowable pattern. In the back of her mind, she felt a sense of cold panic and a deep pressure on her spin as if the garden’s gravity had intensified. 

WIth a snap, Narcissa closed the box and the pressuring sensation was gone. Hermione shivered. Her curiosity had never been more piqued. She felt that old burning return to her: that zeal to uncover buried knowledge. The drive to shed light on the unknowable that carried her into the library stacks for hours on end. She felt Daphne looking at her with a knowing smirk. She cursed her open features. They had her and they knew it. 

“Before I can allow auntie to release something so precious to a relative stranger, I must inquire about my note. More specifically, I must ask you to stamp the sealing wax.” Daphne said cooly. Daphne knew she’d gained the upper hand. 

Hermione remembered the note in her pocket with the untouched gummy substance. She felt cold under the warm summer sun. She produced the letter and tossed it on the garden table. “I know perfectly well that it is no ordinary sealing wax. What is it for?

“It is an ordinary sealing wax. You muggles stole the look of it without understanding its meaning.” Narcissa said as though speaking to a child.

“Sealing wax has been used for centuries to ensure that a certain level of trust amongst parties could be well... sealed” Daphne finished, “It only means that you intend to return the amulet to its rightful owner upon completion of the analysis and any other subsequent discoveries. And that any said discoveries would be promptly relayed to the Malfoys without any personal usage by yourself unless in pursuit of the amulet’s origins. We would not want any unsavory details released to the general public without our approval.” 

Hermione bristled at the insinuation that she would steal anything or release any salacious details like a common Rita Skeeter.

“We do not mean any offense Miss Granger. You must understand the precarious situation we purebloods are in these days. Our every move is exploited, tracked and reported on to a hungry populace salivating at our bloodied expense. I cannot allow my son’s memory to be used even more against him anymore than it already has. '' Narcissa looked terrified and pleading. 

“This sealing wax will also ensure you that we will appropriately compensate and protect you during this interval.” Hermione screwed up her mouth at the protection caveat. 

“If you would feel more comfortable, you can create the incantation for the wax. It is inactive until the incantation is complete. It will solidify only after the words have been said. "Hermione looked over at the red box and she felt an excitement stir in her that she feared was long dead. She nodded jerkily at the two expectant faces. The bargain was struck.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised for clarity

Chapter Two

"I can't believe you would agree to this," Harry ground out as he raked his hands through his hair. He was sitting barefoot on her couch when she came home. She hadn't been surprised to see him waiting up for her like a worried mother fretting over his wayward child. He'd jumped up and began pacing across the rug her parents once owned as she relayed her story in an excitable rush.

While telling the story, Harry's frustration and worry smoothed into a tight smile. The fear and excitement produced an animation in Hermione that he could not remember seeing in her since their childhood. He'd missed the bouncing little girl who was always so eager to jump into adventure if it meant protecting someone she deemed innocent. Most people thought she _ only_ fretted all those years when she was helping hum out of one scrape or another. He knew different. When he looked into her eyes he could see her pupils dilate and contract rapidly. She had that same look now. The look of reckless vitality and inquisitive determination. Harry couldn't take that from her now.

He allowed her to finish her story. Then, he pulled her hand and seated them both on her small couch. They sat quietly for a second as the day's events sat in the air between them like a shining light. The weight of what Hermione had done settled all around them in a great heap. She began to feel an unknowable fright. The small box felt light (too light- as though it would disintegrate without giving her a passing farewell) in her pocket. She wondered if this whole thing was a gigantic ruse to create trust between herself and the pureblood witches. Without reason, she scrambled in her pocket for the box and was relieved when she was able to feel the smooth texture between her fingers.

"How will you get the Unspeakeables to take a look at it? I don't remember you all being on the best of terms?" Harry finally asked.

Hermione reddened and bit her lip. Her exit from that department was rather abrupt and she knew she'd caused a small fire on the gossip circuits. As Witch Weekly had said, in a rare moment of insight, the only reason she was allowed to leave without impunity was because of her status as a war hero. There were some small luxuries afforded to being Harry Potter's best friend. The world was ready to make plenty of excuses for such a person .

"I may be able to reach out to Saul Croaker. I don't think I"ve completely broken bridges with him." her voice wobbled as she spoke. Harry looked doubtful. She felt like a lone piece of ice that had been exiled from its mass and was sailing alone in a barren sea.

"Could I see it" he asked tentatively. She nodded. She was grateful to share her new burden with a friend. She opened the box and his mouth opened slightly. They stared at the necklace for a moment before staring at each other. She knew he felt it too. That deep pressure that caused her to pant.

"I don't like this," Harry said as he reached towards the box to close it. As his fingers got close, he suddenly jerked back and cried out. He waved his hand as though hurt before cradling it in his lap. She snapped the box closed and let it fall to the ground without care. She called his name and pulled his hand into hers in order to examine it.

Angry welts appeared on his fingertips and palm as if he'd slapped his hand on a burning stovetop. She quickly murmured a healing spell as he bit the inside of his cheek. The healing spell seemed to lessen the swelling and his pain but not as much as it should have. Perplexed, she ran to her aloe plant (a vestige from her muggle days with her grandparents who always kept them in the kitchen) and hastily snapped off a branch and squeezed its contents onto Harry's hand cautiously. He smiled his thanks through pained cheeks.

"I'm okay Hermione." She did not completely let out the sigh she was holding. His hand was still an angry sore and she noticed that the skin was beginning to blister. The smell of burned flesh was acid corroding her heart. The fragile jewel piece was only in her possession for a few hours and it was already burning things down.

"It is not your fault" he said defiantly before she became too melancholic. She rolled her eyes at his quiet bravery and pulled him into a hug. He awkwardly held her back and was careful not to let his hand touch anything. They let go of their embrace and pulled their attention back to the upturned object lying underneath her coffee table. Without saying a word, they both backed away from the pig heart hued velvet box in a subtle retreat. After a few minutes of hopeless shuffling around bits of news and accumulated gossip, Harry burst out laughing and Hermione followed. One small item wasn't enough to hold those two back for long. With a determined chuckle, Hermione reached under the table, grabbed it then placed it firmly above her fireplace. It stared down at the two of them with the presence of an unopposed despot addressing the pitiful remains of a rebel group.

"Is it possible for an inanimate object to give the impression of undeserved self-importance? Perhaps sentience is more liberally applied in the wizarding world?" 

"While I'm not entirely sure what sentience means, if you're asking if it feels like at any moment that thing could burst out saying _'Just wait until my father hears of this'_, then one thousand percent." Hermione sniggered before admonishing him for tittering on about the recently deceased. He stuck his tongue out at her in reply. She called him a cheeky child while he transfigured a pointy hat, placed it on her head and then proceeded to call her Headmistress McGranger for the duration of the evening. She decided it was time to kick him out when he got into her reserve stash of Ogden's Finest, floo called Ron to introduce him to the "newest professor at Hogwarts" which only proceed to make Ron cry laughing so merrily that even George came running to the call to see what the fuss was about before they all had a merry go at her until she threatened to tell Molly about what actually happened to her antique vase over winter hols. 

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Hermione wanted to escort Harry home after his burn injury and his liquor sloshed stomach but he refused. He knew that Ginny would worry if she saw Hermione and he did not want Ginny asking questions that he couldn't answer tonight. The alcohol flavored fever dream would turn into a nightmare if she found out that he was not only bladdered out of his mind but severely burned as well. He glamoured his injury despite the growing scowl Hermione sported. He grinned sheepishly and reminded her that it was the price for his reluctant acceptance of this whole scheme. He had agreed to let Hermione keep the necklace on her mantel and to defer any and all official investigations about the object until she'd reached out to Saul. 

With one final death grip hug, she released him into the floo. After he'd gone, she pretended to ignore the ominous box in her living room by having some warm milk. She busied herself in the kitchen while stealing furtive glances at the box perched high above her fireplace. She let out a frustrated groan and abandoned the milk project to the sink.

She brushed past her living quarters and into her bedroom, disturbing her finicky cat from his resting place on her quilt. She hastily pulled off her clothes and left them in a huff next to her bed. She crawled under her sheets and pulled them up to her chin like a child. She had no idea what that necklace was capable of and it scared her into curiosity.

She awoke damp and sticky as if she'd been exercising in her sleep. She felt dull and uncomfortable in her own skin, but she knew her fingers and toes were restless to begin researching. She always felt this way when a new challenge came across her desk. She couldn't wait to get started. She considered feigning sick to get out of going to the bookshop but she knew that the manager had been scrambling for more workers and had come to depend on her. She reasoned that going to see Saul at the Ministry might be too indelicate anyway. She'd rather not churn the rumor mill unnecessarily.

She practically ran through the door at the end of her shift. Her coworkers hadn't seen her move so quickly in ages and she heard them whispering that she must finally be seeing someone. She blushed at the thought as she ran toward the train station. Her lack of suitors was none of their affair she thought as her face reddened. Dating was something that made her feel cold all over. She imagined sloppy first kisses, too pungent cologne and itchy, new sweaters bumping into tweed jumpers with a curl of her lip. She could not imagine taking a new man now.

However the irony of her current situation wasn't lost her. She was dashing home to her amulet like a waiting lover. Her body hadn't felt this alive in ages. Perhaps her coworkers were right to gossip.

Before leaving for work, she'd sent word to Saul. She begged the universe for a response and felt light footed when she saw an acceptance to her proposal waiting for her at home. They would meet at a small coffee shop just far away from the Ministry buildings that they wouldn't be spotted by Ministry workers haunting the yuppie bars after work.

She dressed hurriedly and apparated near the coffee shop. Prior to leaving, she'd placed the box back in her robes and again had been startled by its lightness. The box was made out of heavy wood and cloth padding but she barely registered its weight. She quickly located her destination and saw that it was sparingly dotted with patrons. Most of them appeared to be students scribbling essays over espressos and let out a breath. She swung open the shop door with all the grace of a small bear and she cringed at her own lack of refinement. She saw Saul sitting at a table far from the entrance and he was hailing her over. She smiled a bit and headed his way.

She sat across from him after ordering a tea and biscuits from the waitress. He looked wary but intrigued. They exchanged pleasant greetings but the underlying awkwardness could not be satiated. She began speaking first.

"I am so happy you agreed to come," she looked down at her biscuit and continued. "I wouldn't normally reach out but I have a situation."

"I must say I was intrigued more than anything. After you left, I did not expect you to call me up," his voice was like snow- cold yet melting easily.

"I'd hoped it was you coming to mend fences with the department, perhaps even come back to us. However, I can see that is not the case." 

"No, it is a favor for-" Hermione stopped short. She wasn't sure how to describe her relationship with the Malfoys and finally settled on "... a business associate of mine."

"Oh, please continue," he said, raising an eyebrow as he blew on his steaming latte.

"I'd like to discuss a mysterious artifact that has come into my possession…" she began.

After explaining the situation with as much detail as she could without giving away any sensitive information about how she came to be in possession of such a strange piece of magic, she stopped. Saul was looking at her with a combination of curiosity and apprehension. She hoped his curiosity would win out.

"If the amulet burned Harry as you say and gives you both strange sensations when it is exposed, perhaps we should take caution with our discussion. Perhaps we could study the item in a private location." Saul jerked his head around the cafe. Hermione did not notice anyone studying them but she never knew who was really listening to their conversations. Journalists could be wonderful undercover operatives.

"My flat is near here. We could study it there," Saul offered. Hermione had not been in a man's home alone in quite some time. She attempted to find a good reason to deny the request but saw the practicality in it. She did not want photos of her with the amulet all over the newspapers. She agreed and reluctantly followed him home.

Once in his small apartment, Hermione noticed the smells of old bananas and smoky leather. She swept her eyes around the room to find that there was indeed an old style leather chair sitting below an angled lamp. The entire perimeter of the small living space was stacked high with various books, manuscripts, tomes, ink pots and quills. There was even a small desk with several candle stumps littering its surface like a dead forest of chopped down trees with only the stumps to serve as reminders of what once was.

She also saw an unbelievable amount of overfilled ashtrays and long, thin cigars haphazardly placed about the room. She even guessed that she may have spotted a few student essays carelessly stacked atop his breakfast counter and she remembered he taught a few classes at the university every now and again.

"Such is the life of a scholar" he said jovially in way of welcome as he saw her take in his flat. He beckoned her over to the small dining space crammed thoughtlessly between a teetering tower of old books and the messy breakfast nook. She felt at home at once and realized this messy compilation of a life was just the sort she could get used to.

They seated themselves at the table carefully as to not disturb the resting books swaying gently behind them. Hermione continued to stare blissfully at his small librarian's home before realizing he was staring at her expectantly. She blushed and stammered out a gleeful half apology.

He grinned proudly in response and gestured for to get on with the show and tell. Blushing again as she realized was probably encroaching on his studies, she yanked the box from her pocket and cracked it open. Again, the swirling mass greeted her mischievously. She glanced over at Saul and discovered his face alight like a child's.

"Astounding," he exclaimed after a moment of intense study. He looked eager to finger the object but steadied his hand and Hermione was proud of his patience. He abruptly stood from the table and swept over to his writing desk to retrieve some parchment and quill. He began calmly and meticulously drawing a life like replica of the object.

"You are a skilled artist," Hermione commented quietly. She was feeling more and more impressed by her former colleague and wished she'd really seen him while they were working together. A tendril of something soft and warm was strumming at her heartstrings.

He seemed taken aback by the compliment but recovered quickly. "Yes, I have made it a sort of pursuit since childhood." She again was struck at his lack of feigned humility or over boastfulness. He recognized his own skill without being a braggart. Hermione found him beautifully balance and coloured slightly at the thought.

When the 3D drawing was complete, he wrote down all of the particulars about the item that Hermione knew including its ability to scorch Harry's hand. When he got to the burning effect, he put down the quill and looked at the amulet with open interest. "Miss Granger, I'd like to attempt to reach for the object as Mr. Potter did yesterday. I have a hypothesis that I'd like to test." Hermione bit her lip fearfully. He gave her a reassuring nod.

"Yes, I am also concerned. If you could be at the ready to assist me should I get burned?"

Hermione agreed and pulled out her wand. He blew out a calm breath and made a confident reach towards the box before his hand shot backwards in pain. He did not scream and in fact looked as if he'd expected such a response. Hermione quickly cast a strong healing spell on his hand that seemed to be more effective than the one from last night. He calmly went into his washroom to bandage his hand.

Hermione began to apologize as he re-emerged but was silenced with a brilliant smile. "Yes, this is a very curious artifact that you've acquired. I can only make an untested guess, but if I had to say, I think this object is charmed to ward off strange parties."

Hermione too began to feel this way. "I won't ask about the acquaintance that gave you such a powerful item, but I remember you saying they've had various professionals checking out the device and I find that doubtful. I can't imagine that many people could go near such a thing!'

Hermione felt flushed with humiliation. Of course, Narcissa and Daphne weren't being truthful. She couldn't believe she'd trusted them even slightly. If they would lie about that, what else would they lie about? If she'd taken the amulet into the ministry would it have turned into a fiery bomb or other such object of destruction? She expressed this opinion to Saul who shook his head.

"No, I don't believe it was created for mass destruction. I have never come in contact with an amulet like this but I have witnessed the protection spell that covers it. Have you ever heard of an Indrik?" Hermione shook her head.

"Indriks are very distant Romanian cousins to unicorns and their ilk. Indriks possess their own magical capabilities but little is known about the creatures except their affinity for creating objects imbued with concentrated power and energy. It is said that like fae folk, one can bargain with an indrik to receive one of the blessed vessels but that is pure conjecture. I would imagine if someone were to come in possession of such a vessel, they would go to any means to protect it from greedy fingers and thus put it under a heavy protection spell." He said this last part with a hearty laugh that made Hermione laugh deeply too.

"You said that you had experienced a protection spell like this one before?"

His easy smile became slightly cold. "I cannot tell you much about that without going into Unspeakable territory."

She grimaced at his change in tone.

"If you were to come back, I'd be happy to share my notes with you," Saul said more warmly. At this she looked down at her fingers.

"You haven't lost our support, " he said kindly, "The department does not hold you to account. You'd be welcomed back to us; I know it."

Hermione had to admit that she'd missed these exchanges and discoveries with her colleagues. She had rarely been surrounded by fellow academics just as invested in the quest for knowledge as herself. While she loved the bookshops, the smell of a dusty manuscripts and the feel of aged paper between her fingers was indescribable.

"I will think about it."

"Please do."

"Will you be able to take this amulet to the department," she asked hopefully.

"The object is fascinating but I cannot promise. We are in the midst of a large project that is taking up the majority of our people power and resources. I will inquire but it may be several days before I can get you answers."

Hermione felt slightly defeated but appreciative of his honesty. "If I were you, I'd look into what protection spell or spells are cloaking the charm. Take care to remember that the protection spell may also protect you from the necklace."

"What do you mean?"

"We have no idea if the amulet's protection spells are keeping others away or keeping whatever powers the bead holds from getting out or both. I'd also wonder why you seem to have no problem being close to the necklace," He mused softly.

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Hermione sat on her bed with box laying flat on her upturned palm. Her eyes would not close for sleep. She kept picturing the hopeful faces of the purebloods and fiery storms raged in her mind. She wondered what sort of agreement she had actually accepted that day. She wondered how such a rare vessel ended up on a dead man's neck. She wondered how Draco Malfoy had really died. The odd way Daphne referred to his death made her wonder. Was it the amulet? Had he been burned alive in an attempt to wear it?

She flicked open the box and stared at the amulet through bleary, bed-ready eyes. The heavy pressure enveloped her again and she realized that she had never attempted to touch the object herself. Perhaps she wasn't immune and it would burn her too. Maybe touching the box was not enough for her to set off the protection spell. She recalled that Narcissa had never touched the necklace either- only the box.

Clenching her teeth and stealing her resolve she gingerly reached for the choker- not the swirling bead (just in case). The air surrounding the necklace was dense and thick; it was as if her fingers were cutting through water. She pushed through the resistance and picked up the necklace by the clasp. She held it cautiously between her thumb and index fingers like a dirty tissue. She did not let the bead touch her skin. In the moonlight of her dark bedroom, the amulet became even more mesmerizing. The swirling substance locked inside became more ferocious and thrashed about inside the bead like a raging wave.

She longed to touch the bead, wondering if it was hot or cold, smooth or rough. She could not resist. She gently stroked the charm and began feeling a pulling sensation deep inside her chest.

Startled, she attempted to pull her finger away but found that the pulling sensation turned into a deep jerk. She pulled back again but felt something yanking her back like a furious lover. Whatever force was pulling at her began grasping her fingers then her whole hand and soon her entire arm. Her arm was contorting to fit into the tiny necklace bead like mozzarella stretching between a pizza slice and the rest of the pie. She looked down in wordless screams as she felt her entire body being sucked inside the eye of the amulet in much the same way as her hand.

She felt like a convicted man being ripped apart by four horses running in separate directions with each one of his limbs attached to each horse's leg. The cruciatus curse could not match the pain. A crazed Bella could not stand up to this brief moment of intense splintering. All at once, she smelled a change in the air. The gentle homey aromas of home were replaced with humid dankness. She felt all of her appendages snap back together like puzzle pieces. Before she could take in the moment, the startling darkness overtook her.

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A/N: Thank you all again for reading. I apologize that I've taken a bit longer to update. My full time job has been extra crazy lately (such is the life of an educator). I've also been working on a big project with my photography business and recovering from hurting myself skateboarding. Yes, busy times indeed!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hermione braced herself for a hard impact as she calculated the momentum with which her body had been catapulted across dimensions. She imagined she was a metal pendulum being pulled taut before being released abruptly. So, she was surprised to find that her trajectory slowed so suddenly that she landed delicately on a wobbly surface. The material under her feet was not quite solid but not so infirm as to make her sink into the ground. It felt like a wide expanse of soft rubber under her feet. As was her luck there was no way to discern what material she was standing on- let alone what sort of place she had been dropped in. She could barely see the outline of her fingers in this place.

The area (chamber?... elaborate cage?... dim, odourless swamp?...) was pervasively dark as if the light was manually and loving sucked away like the last droplets of desert water on a greedy tongue. This left the area barren and cloisteringly cold with only a shimmering, far off sky to see by. Although, there was no way to accurately describe the light source far above her as she did not possess the words to describe it. The shimmering colors seemed to be a light within themselves like self sufficient stars peppering space without an engorged sun to support their light.

The shimmering miasma, spread like soft, sparkling jam on the heavens above her, undulated and slithered across the sky with a choking gentleness, like baby soft hands crushing her windpipes. The girations and reckless dancing reminded her of the way the bead swished and swirled indeterminately like a neurotic puffer fish. She realized it was what she could see from outside the bead. Her voice faltered at this discovery before calling out a tentative hello. The gooey silence swallowed up her fearful call like a salivating flytrap. Only buzzing silence answered her. She quivered with a growing understanding of true isolation. Her hammering heart told her that not one solitary creature, quill or particle of dust communed with her in this unholy space. She would have run, just to greet her sweat as a companion, but she could not see in any direction that stretched beyond her fingertips. Her voice was swallowed up by the atmosphere and she surmised that whatever space she was in was not big enough for a proper echo.

She yelled nonsensically a few more times. She began to run erratically towards the left hoping to smack into a wall. She tripped before she could make it very far. The ground was too unsteady to run and she found the substance stickier than she'd guessed before. She began to crawl on her hands and knees when her efforts to move upright were continually thwarted. She pulled up legs and hands one at a time in order to peel her skin and clothes off the surface before starting the process again. She felt like a fly attempting to rescue itself from sticky fly paper.

She had no concept of time or how long she had been struggling to move around but her extremities hurt and she didn't sense any thing like a door coming closer. She cursed that her wand was sitting on her bed as useless as anything. Hermioine had to rest or risk complete exhaustion. She allowed her whole body to fall against the floor with her head tilted towards the side. She breathed in deeply and fully. Upon her exhale, her stomach dropped giving a sickly dip to her spine. She was sinking! Hermoine scrambled to get up but the ground was bent on taking her. A raspy cry tiptoed out of her mouth but was caught as an air bubble when the steady goo entered her nose and mouth, suffocating her. Her body was drowned in blinding tar and her body was stuck in sticky stasis as it moved down, down, down into the muck like a newborn baby swimming through the birth canal-slimy and new.

Before the existential crisis could fully emerge in her breast, she felt her nostrils clear and the sensation of floating came upon her. The stringy blackness was gone and the sinking sensation erased! She had passed the threshold (of what she was not sure).Her limbs were free and she felt warmth fanning her from below. She felt light and airy like a soft, whipped cheese. With a nervous clench she looked straight down and gasped.

Underneath her slowly drifting body was an expanse of tightly huddled clouds whispering softly to one another. She was hovering above the heavens! Her mind brightened with elation for a short moment. She had never enjoyed flying and was amazed to find herself enjoying the feeling of weightlessness caressing at her legs. However, her soft experience quickly gave way to abject horror.

With hawkeye vision, she was able to see a large clearing in what she could only imagine was a cold forest with leaves scattered on the forest floor like bronzed corpses. The sight was magnificent and shimmering but it was what was at the center that made her blood run cold. A chained figure was in the dead center of the clearing. His chains, thick and dull gray, danced erratically in all directions as his body quaked. His wrist bonds yanked his arms behind him as if there was a boot in his back pushing his chest out. The shackles at his ankles pulled him to his knees in an unending bow. As she got closer she saw that the figure was a man and his neck was chained also. The chains must have been angled at different heights to create such an effect where his hands were stretched downward, his knees bent with legs straight back and his head bent slightly backward so he would always have a view of the sky. He was a bedraggled bloodhound baying out sorrows and bitter truths at a neglectful, scornful moon.

A guttural noise tore out of her belly as she got ever closer. The man had long, sweat flattened hair the color of a baby polar bear trembling with hunger. He had the face of an ancient aristocrat sneering coldly as the guillotine swung with arctic precision before a roaring crowd. And, now in the present day, the aristocrat's descendant was looking in her direction screaming something she could not hear just like a severed head grasping for a body that was no longer there.

As she approached the blanket of clouds, she realized her descent was hastening. What had begun as a meandering trot had accelerated into a full blown gallop, and she waved her hands and legs in order to slow her fall. She continued to move and thrash wildly until for a split moment she was blinded by flickering and flashing starlight. The moment zipped by her so quickly that she'd give over her eyes to catch that moment again and swallow it.

With barely enough time to register it, she was crashing through the threadbare trees and tumbling onto the dead grass and leaves below. She had crossed yet another space-time barrier, this time with an audible crack as she tore through the sky layer into the tree lined atmosphere. She knew something was softening her fall as she should be dead after such acrobatics. She was glad of it and was even more glad that was not back in that dark tar again even as her body continued to tumble through underbrush and branches. The flashes of autumnal colors splashing across her eyelids as her body moved unbidden and unreserved.

She suddenly stopped rolling and landed flat on her back on the far side of what she assumed was the clearing. Her body heaved sharply as she attempted to control her body and steady her winded mind. She was disoriented and yet doggedly determined. Her appendages were scraped and bleeding and she felt a limpness in her wrist and she was sure it was sprained. She exhaled sourly to let out the pain before pushing up her weary body. One glance up and she was reminded of the enslaved creature near her.

With brush and thistle sticking out of her hair, she ran towards Draco Malfoy. She slammed her body down just before crashing into him. His face was still upturned and his mouth was still contorted into a horrific display of throat gnashing screams but she could hear no sound. She realized with a start that she had not heard one sound outside her own voice since entering this place. She had not even heard the dry foliage crunching underneath her as she spun out.

She shivered involuntarily as she stood up to stand above the tortured man. She put her face in his direct line of sight. He did not appear to see her and his endless cries continued unbroken. She put a hand on his shoulder and for the briefest of moments she heard the far off keening of a great canine being stabbed repeatedly without respite.

"This one's soul howls loudly" an unspoken voice boomed quietly from the base of her spine reaching her mind's ears from a far off distance. The words were not quite true words she realized but impressions and sounds and colors that created an unexplainable meaning in her mind. She whipped her body around to locate the sound and fell backwards when she spotted a massive beast resting on its front paws like a large cat half shadowed in the brush.

The animal was well camouflaged in the bushes and vines latticing the other side of the clearing. Its eyes remained closed and its ears were downturned as if to blot out some terrible noise but its ivory antlers, elk's body and noble horse face were unmistakable. This massive creature had spoken into her bones with words that were not quite words. With its iridescent green fur like the inside of a seashell and its finely cut features like cut stone, she knew it was the fearsome Indrik.

WIth her cursory research before bed, she'd read that a stirring Indrik could make the very earth tremble, so she thanked Merlin that he appeared to be uninterested in moving. She had seen many magical creatures, been in awe of their otherworldly power, loved them beyond sense, but this creature was like the depths of the earth's core, rooted and untouchable. Hermione felt in that moment that some pursuits should not be uncovered. There were mysteries that the human mind should not attempt to uncrack. That even Voldemort's magic that had threatened to collapse the whole world with its hubris was in no league with this. This was a moment in time the was so achingly real that the human condition was not prepared for it. She had fallen into something so dark and so full of light that her brain might ever recover. That deep pressure she'd felt in the bead's presence was liking walking through a poppy field compared to this feeling of being flattened to the earth like ground bone. Her brain felt like it was condensing down to its dearest parts and something in her begged for the beast to not open his eyes.

"This thing does not belong." The voice said without saying. In her mind's ear, she heard its bored dismissal. Hermione took a moment to realize the beast was addressing her and before she could process the words, the beast pushed air through its nostrils and the ground beneath her jumped as though shin kicked. Her body flew backwards but not before she unconsciously reached out for something to steady herself. She understood too late that she had grabbed a handful of Malfoy's long, billowing hair. With that touch, she could hear his spirit crying out in full volume and the sound surrounded her from all sides, a sonic boom bursting her ear canals. She felt hot blood trickle down both ears as she hastily let go of his hair save one strand that got caught in her jagged fingernails. While letting go, she saw his startling grey eyes swimming directly into hers. As soon as her hands were away from his hair, the mic caught off like someone switching off the sound board at the end of a party. Party's over mates- go screams did not end even as her ability to hear them did like unplugging her headphones from a still playing walkman with the gears and cranks of his mouth still spinning with no one to hear them.

She felt her belly tugging her upward through the stars, through the empty space, through the gummy ground and out of the crystal bead. She was not just being pulled from Malfoy but yanked back through dimensions like a yoyo being rewrapped after a trick sling. Before she could fully grasp her interdimensional travel, she fell back against her bed with a loud thump. The blood still dripping from her ears flew across her duvet and pillow. Her world turned black.

She awoke mid convulsion as if her body couldn't hold the memory of her evening inside her chest, a raging bull bucking for release. The convulsions did not stop instantly and she could only thrash in terror until the quaking calmed and only shocking tremors plagued her body. She did not stir until all involuntarily movement ceased. Her body was sore and pulsing and she'd vomited all over herself.

Her fingers shook as she grasped her wand and said the necessary cleaning spells. Her magic had never felt frail and insignificant but as she magicked away the traces of her experience, she couldn't compare her parlour tricks to the celestial bull who'd thrown her through purgatory and back again. She performed magic like a theater actor playing the role of a king- touring and dancing across her gilded stage in a cheap imitation of the real thing. The indrik was magic. She knew the distinction now better than any person who ever lived. Well except perhaps Draco Malfoy.

When she had collected her faculties as best she could, she checked the time and realized it was time for work. The regular concerns of eating and sustaining her flat helped level her and for that she was grateful. And she completed her mundane tasks with a religious fervor. Hermione knew she must be mad to tidy up, get dressed and go to work after what she'd just experienced but did so anyway. Somehow staying home to wallow would be worse than any scars that haunted her.

She was jittery at the bookstore. Her eyes darted around suspiciously with the sound of every person sipping coffee or turning the pages of a book in an easy chair or the constant sound of credit card receipts printing. She kept stretching and flexing her muscles. She didn't fit in her own skin. Her supervisor noticed her odd behavior and she feigned worry over a sick aunt. His eyes turned sympathetic and he told her to take the rest of the week off. His own grandfather was recovering from a nasty stroke and his lip quivered when he wished her well. She felt guilty about lying but conceded that her mind was churning too rapidly to focus on selling books.

She wobbled through both muggle and wizarding London aimlessly. She bought food and drink that she left on the table, she walked through shops without seeing the items and she waved at acquaintances without recognizing their faces. She continued to walk without care until she stopped in front of a slightly familiar door. She had subconsciously ended up a Saul's flat. She looked at the time and saw it was nearly time for dinner. She hesitated before knocking but did so anyway.

The door opened and she took in Saul's disheveled appearance. His shirt was stained with colored inks as were his fingers, his pants were rumpled from sitting too long in one position and his beard was scraggly and untapered. He looked at her frightened face and he immediately ushered her into the room. Although she was crossing yet another threshold in the short span of 10 hours, she felt warm and safe as though cloaked in the aroma of hot coffee. She sat down on one of his soft leather armchairs and told her story with cigar smoke brushing the air.

He'd sat in silent awe as she recounted the previous night's events. Hermione picked out some details like unpleasant nut's in a snack mix and threw them away such as who the man was that she found bound to the ground. She may not have been told the truth by the Malfoys but she would keep up her end of the bargain and keep their secrets.

"To be trapped in such a prison is a fate worse than the dementor's kiss" he proclaimed after a long pause.

"So you think the person is alive?" Hermione choked over the words as the possibility slide over her faculties like slick soap.

"Possibly. The amulet could be a portal to the Indrik's forest. It could also be the purgatory of your friend's soul or something I haven't begun to dream up. Either way, you're lucky to have been cast out." Hermione's knee began to shake as a small sense the situation's gravity came to her. Saul put a steadying hand on her shoulder. They sat in strained silence and Hermione knew what he wanted her to say and she knew what she'd wish he'd say. Finally, she said, "I'll have to get to the bottom of this. For that poor man's sake."

Saul nodded. "Yes. This case is becoming most interesting but I fear it appears to only affect one individual. The situation we are working on in my department effects decorated dignitaries across international lines. I championed your cause as best I could with the higher ups but you know how that stodgy bunch can get on...political ramifications and all that. I will continue petitioning but I'm worried that every passing moment strings that poor soul closer to decay."

"A soul can decay?" she pressed as white washed screams flashed through her mind. He looked unsure of what to say reluctantly shook his head yes. "Then I know exactly what I must do now"

They both knew what she needed to do and who she needed to see. With a steadying breath she quit the room in search of the witches.  
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The Malfoy estate had not been so ravaged by war reparations that it was humbled. It was still as stately and domineering as it had been on that dark night so many years ago. The "mudblood" scar on her arm burned as she got nearer to the estate but she pressed forward. The wards surrounding the home must have been set to cover the entire area circumventing it because before she could reach the gate, a house elf appeared.

It was not particularly taciturn or welcoming and did not speak. It beckoned her forward through the gate with a knobby finger and promptly turned toward the front door without seeing if she would follow. She hurried behind the poor thing with rigid resolve. She would get to the bottom of this.

She was led through the front entrance like an expected guest and led into an intimate parlour with blushing wallpaper and peony covered arm chairs. She guessed this was Narcissa's intimate receiving room as she already saw two saucers with hot tea laid carefully atop a glass coffee table. She spotted the white writing desk off in the corner as she continued to look around. The papers were laying in a messy pile as if someone had hastily stacked them together in the hopes of appearing neat. Upon closer inspection, she noticed deep scratches in the wallpaper near an obscure corner by the fireplace as though a jailed mad woman had been counting down her prison days with a shiv or fingernails.

The door popped open with a bit too much force and Narcissa's face was splotchy underneath several dabs of facial powder. Her eyelids were red and slightly puffy as though someone had done a bad job of incanting a beauty spell. Narcissa's frame was wraith thin in form fitting robes. Her blonde hair was deeply white at the root as though something monumentally scary had spooked the color directly off her head. When she sat down next to Hermione in a poor attempt to maintain her elegant style, her foot wobbled and she ended up falling gracelessly into her seat.

Flushing deeply without comment, Narcissa took her hot drink and sipped it daintily. Her hands shook as she attempted to place it directly on the saucer. And she ended up spilling the liquid across the side table. Hermione averted her eyes as she knew how humiliating this must all be for a well bred and well trained woman. The quiet between them grew more uncomfortable as Hermione deliberated on how to proceed.

"You've seen him." Narcissa said bluntly. Her eyes were wild and her face was coldly set.

Sputtering with anger, Hermione growled like a challenged tiger, "You knew."

Narcissa tightened her jaw. "I refuse to apologize for protecting my son."

"It's all the same with you lot. So long as it's in pursuit of your dead son, damn the rest of the world." Hermione tumbled to her feet like a ferocious wild cat. "You could have consigned me to death too. Not that it matters to you."

Narcissa's eyes flashed ruthlessly but she did not speak.

"Furthermore, luring me in blindly hardly serves your purpose. If I had been killed too, no one would be looking for your boy." Her hands were on her hips in her know-it-all stance. She was full of righteous rage.

"I knew you wouldn't willing go save him if you knew the truth but I had to devise away for you to be a willing participant. It wouldn't work otherwise."

"You talk as though he's a living person to be saved." Narcissa simply looked at her as though Hermione was the thickest woman in England. Hermione glared in response although feeling as though the conversation was rapidly getting away from her. And what truth was she supposed to have known? She felt hot in her chest with all she didn't know.

"Daphne was right to suspect you." Narcissa said as she roughly rose from her chair and swept over to her writing desk. She grabbed the stack of unkempt papers and began flinging them around the room like a desperate farmer shucking dried seeds wildly upon barren earth and praying for rain. Hermione saw each page was covered with crossed out names and small margin notes that looked to be written by a hungover chicken.

"Can you imagine the time I've wasted!" Narcissa shrieked as she angrily swept her hand across her writing desk forcing her quills and ink pots on to the floor. "The shear power it took to obliviate en masse!" Narcissa continued yanking at precious mementos like framed photos and enchanted glass figurines that shrieked as she smashed them. She began kicking and scratching as she fell apart. She retreated into the damaged corner of the room (where Hermione had seen scrapes in the wallpaper) and Narcissa proceeded to fall on the ground and claw at the wall paper like a cat hooking its nails into a tree. Hermione, unable to see any creature in pain, approached the woman like she would a beeping bomb. Hermione dropped down to one knee in front of Narcissa like a dashing knight pledging allegiance to a neurotic tiger prone to histrionics.

"Go to him." Narcissa pleaded abruptly with some semblance of lucidity in her eyes. Narcissa whipped back to the mangled wallpaper and yanked hard on one loose piece of wallpaper and revealed a slip of blank parchment hiding between the wallpaper and the wall. She pressed the paper into Hermione's hand with one sharp index finger until her nail and the paper sunk deep into her palm flesh-producing blood. At the touch of her blood, symbols she could not identify began to appear on the paper. At the end of her strength, Narcissa released her and Hermione tried to pull the paper off but the paper immediately burst into flames. She blew furiously at the fire on her skin until the ashes of the paper whispered away leaving a brand of the symbol burned into her skin like a farmer's initials on a milk cow.

With a stretching smile that peeled across her whole face, Narcissa said, "Better to go on your own accord than to have them searching for you." Narcissa nodded to indicate the brand on her palm. "The Indrik are masterful debtors and they always collect."

Looking back, she'd wished she'd never told them. Ron was a thrashing ball of hate, Harry looked visibly sick and Saul looked like ever the rumpled academic.

The group sat in Harry's living room with worn bodies and a plethora of books, tomes and manuscripts scattered on every surface. While Saul collected books from his private collection that may have some useful information, Hermione explained the full story to Ron and caught Harry up to speed. Luckily, Saul popped through just before a big row erupted between the three of them. Saul, a practiced professor, put them all to work searching for clues to help Hermione out of this mess. It had been several hours with several book runs from various libraries but little had been found save for one obscure passage in an old manuscript.

Once forged, a blood pact was sealed with the old words. And should a bargainer fail to hold up her end of the deal, the Indrik would drag the person down to Irkalla for judgement. From their collective think tank, they'd surmised Irkalla was an afterworld and the branded symbol laid out a contract she had nonconsensually accepted. A contract she could not read. Sadly, there wasn't an Indrik to English translator's dictionary lying around to help flesh out the details.

The mood was plummeting with every chime of the hour and the dogged no's and absolutely not's were sounding more and more brittle. They all knew the inevitable. And Hermione was tiring of running.

It had been several minutes since anyone said anything and it gave her a moment to reflect. Her righteous fury had capsized and she was left adrift. The reality was pressing on her and so too was Draco Malfoy's broken face. She hadn't allowed herself to think on him for the past two days. It would jimmy her moral compass and unlock her highest, most self sacrificing nature. She had kept it safely hidden but now as the adrenaline of the past few days settled, she felt her better self being pried open with butcher knife. She couldn't leave him there.

"Bugger that." Ron bellowed suddenly. He caused the other members to jump out of their own reveries.

"What's that?" asked Saul.

"Come again mate?" asked Harry.

Ron hopped from one foot to another while gesticulating wildly. "I can feel the martyr oozing out of you! It's SPEW all over again!" Hermione blinked like a feverish barn owl.

"I see it and I say no!" He pounded his palm on the coffee table while glaring at her. Harry's twin expression told her he too knew what she was thinking of and was equally displeased. Saul, unaccustomed to the trio's dynamic, looked aghast at Ron's display.

"I don't know if he's dead, alive or something else entirely but he is in unbelievable pain," she said quietly, "regardless, I have been tricked into some sort of bargain that must have something to do with going back through the amulet. I really don't want to see what Indrik bounty hunters look like."

As she spoke, she tore off her turtleneck jumper to reveal a cotton shirt underneath. The room had gotten too stuffy and hot. As she undressed, she heard audible gasps from the men. She followed their eyes and looked at her chest. She saw something unusual and ran to the framed mirror on the wall. She tore at her neck as she saw her reflection. Two fat red lines sat at the base of her neck like crude tattoos. And the color was deepening like blood bubbling up to the surface of scraped skin.

Saul vowed to force the ministry's hand and take this case or risk losing his services. Ron swore and flew in looping circles out behind the house. Harry held her to him like his own child. But in the end, they allowed her to go into the amulet.

She went into a spare room and closed the door. She did not want them to watch her being sucked into the afterworld. They were under strict instructions to not pursue her or interfere. After she'd gone, they would keep the door locked until hopefully the unspeakables figured out how to transport the amulet back to the ministry for testing (and safekeeping of course).  
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After she'd said her goodbyes and locked the door, Hermione grabbed a pillow and held it close to her body. When she'd gathered the nerve, she touched the amulet's charm and allowed her body to pulled across realities and then up and then down until she was back in the Indrik's forest. Not willing to let her fear catch up to her resolve, she ran to the clearing.

She saw Malfoy still chained. She did not see the Indrik hiding in the bush. She looked around and around but saw no sign of the beast. She did spot hoof prints like craters leading away from the clearing. She went to Malfoy. With a more focused look, she saw that the chains were cutting through his skin, down to the bone. She could easily hear his gut twisting screams from far off but up close the sound chewed through her eardrums and spat angrily into her exposed mind. The sound was so unbearable that she could not think. In a sandstorm cacophonic shrieks, she began to panic. Desperately, she tried to shake him or snap him out of it but nothing worked.

Her eyes darted from side to side and she bounced with indecision. She felt like grabbing her hair. "What to do? I don't know what to do!" She took shallow breaths and felt rooted to the spot. And she could not think decisively over his cries.

Deciding direct attacks were the best trial and error, she went over to him, grabbing his head between her hands like a sandwich. She tilted her head to look directly into his eyes. His eyes began to shift towards hers. "It's me, Malfoy. I am going to get you out," she screamed with feigned confidence.

She began bouncing from foot to foot. Her anxiety was a grim dance and her un-rhythmic stomping a poor relief. She looked about her wildly trying to infuse some plan into her scream-filled brain. She spotted the typical forest accoutrements: leaves, heavy brush, woodland plants and fungi scurrying about the forest floor but nothing of much use. How to break him out of his...what? Well exactly what was his issue? Was he trapped in his own mind? Was he a tortured spirit? Was this what happened to the soul of dementor victims? Souls screaming as the cataclysm split their souls from their bodies? What sort of affliction was he under?

Those answers would not come in this dark shroud of blood thinning death. Only a calm and quiet discussion of what had brought him so low would shed any light on both their fates. She had a feeling she couldn't break him out of his spell so easily especially not understanding what manner of torture he was being subjected to. She missed not being able to hear his shrieking. Feverishly she wished she could knock him out cold. And so, with a shameful sigh, she did.

Unsure if her magic would make any impact on this spirit world, she whipped out her wand and stupefied him. He went limp immediately and ceased his haunted howling. The quiet that proceeded was harrowing. It was as if all air and particles had suddenly ceased to move. She imagined it was what living inside a piece of glass felt like, eternally still and immediately fragile.

She scraped her hands over her face, neck and hair vigorously as she tried to come up with some plan. Hermione had slipped into this metaphysical conundrum without any real idea of how she was going to save Malfoy or herself. She'd always been praised as the steadying hand amongst her group of friends, never running off with only a wand and an ideal to feed her. Now look at her, acting with bravado like an idiot. She would never resolve to such childish antics again.

Meanwhile, there she was with a limp body and a soundless atmosphere. There were no sounds to frighten or comfort her. Birds calling home, streams traveling swiftly, rushing wind searching for relief- all were absent. And the light that wafted onto the ground, as though taking a steamy, leisurely bath, was diffused and unassuming. She realized that the color, intensity and position of the light had not changed since she'd arrived and was exactly the same as it had been upon her first visit. Pushing her head from side to side like a champion swimmer, she examined the area. Nothing was any different from before as she compared her mental image of the area with her present viewing. Not even an errant acorn could be seen out of place. Like a fawn frozen in fright, her body stilled at the lack of life and chaotic movement that typically accompanied the presence of all natural things. She was in a mausoleum, a place for the eternally still. Suddenly she wished for a sound or a moving object in the breeze. She even wished to hear Malfoy's soul scraping screams. Anything would be company.

Her breath came out in staccatoed jerks. She wobbled on her legs as she searched for any markers of the living- a dangling tree branch, the caterwauling of an errant owl, grass being broken by hooves. No sounds or sights of life. Only increasingly loud silence welcomed her. Her legs shook a bit too much and her body began seizing roughly. In a moment of clarity she realized she was having a panic attack. And so Hermione, like a broken-winged swan, fell elegantly atop Malfoy's still form.

How much time had passed was unknowable as Hermione roused from her blackout. The hazy light above her had not moved directionally or lessened in intensity. She could not tell the passage of time by it. She imagined animals felt similarly; being distrubed to find their feeding grounds decimated by steel mouthed predators with metal feet and all encompassing fire, not understanding that it was human industry at work. She was a small rodent watching with dazed eyes as beings of higher power shuffled around her perceptions of time and space without a thought to her comfort.

She was thick with sweat and cotton mouthed as she rolled off of Malfoy's body. She checked to see if she'd suffocated him because she wasn't sure if spirits (or whatever he was) could be killed again. His chest moved up and down and her stupefy had not worn off. She must not have been out for very long as the spell had not yet lapsed. Now that her episode was over, she felt sluggish and yet renewed.

If she did not come up with a solution, who knew how long she had before she was permanently stuck. She wasn't even sure if that was a thing. She knew so little and felt herself reaching a wall. She needed a lead or direction to go in. She had no books to consult or tomes to pour over. She was in the wilderness with no guide.

Her mind in turmoil, she began to feel that now familiar feeling of panic and anxiety clawing at her throat again. She was completely alone. And nothing was safe. Her eyes traveled at lightning pace. Had the light above her always been so cloudy? Had that treeline always been so close? Was the forest closing in on her? Mindlessly she backed away from the copse of silent trees staring at her like rigid sentinels ready to fire on the ready.

Immediately she fell over Malfoy's foot and landed directly on her back. As she stared up into the sky that resembled a smoky plume, she accepted that she was not actually alone. She had Draco Malfoy and that could make all the difference. A choking laugh escaped her dry lips. Of course.

Hermione had not had much use for the divine art of legilimency since her school days traipsing through the countryside like a common criminal in search of salvation. Needless to say, she was a bit rusty. Time was squeezing between her fingers and she did not have the patience to sift through Malfoy's mind like a fine meshed sieve to find one kernel of information. That would have to come later. She needed to know how to revive him- the sane version of himself- not the cursed spirit she'd happened upon.

After practicing her wand work and her spell casting voice, she gripped her feet to the forest floor, relaxed her casting arm and breathed out from her belly- producing a hefty sigh. Without preamble, she directed her wand at his grimy head and cast her spell.

Instantly, she was surrounded by the acrid damp smell that had greeted her upon her arrival in this netherworld. The smell wound its way throughout Malfoy's mind like a viral infection. That stench colored all of his wisps of thoughts, snapshots of thoughts and slivers of memory in a decrepit, sickly putrescence. She gagged mentally and feared that rotting smell would forever coat her mind. She tore through his memories in a frenzy but only heard his echoing screams and his tattered musings singing in a discordant harmony. If only she could see the Malfoy from before he was dragged into this hell. She felt rather than saw that the old Malfoy was underneath all of this madness and desperation but she was becoming too ill to continue. She felt herself melting into his fractured mind-stream and she feared she would not be able to climb out. She withdrew from his torrential mind-scape in a tumble of stunted screams.

Gasping for air, she spat and coughed and hacked to get that stinking yellow madness out of her mind. It took several long moments before she was able to function properly, even then that smelling color was still faintly present behind her eyes. She knew then that Draco Malfoy could be of no help to her. If his mind was assaulted with such torments, she could understand his arrested screaming. She had never experienced such all encompassing hell. She pitied Malfoy then; to be trapped in the prison of one's own mind must surely be a deeper punishment. This Malfoy was no use to her.

And like the soft embrace of mother, the answer sweetly settled around her. This Malfoy was indeed unhelpful. His brain was so poisoned that nothing could escape it. An old version of Malfoy would not have such problems.

Hermione spent a few moments rummaging through her store of varied knowledge before creating a makeshift spell out of threadbare latin and tattered proto-Germanic roots. She swiveled her body towards a tree drooping with age and uttered her cobbled up spell. The tree limbs quickly wound upwards like an old jack-in-the-box being wound back into its container. The tree trunk, like a saggy unused balloon being blown into with hot air, blossomed and bloomed from its withered, wizened state into a slightly smoother, younger shape. Hermione smiled.

After practicing her spell on as many trees and branches as she could, Hermione turned to her companion. His jaw was beginning to open and she saw his eyes twitching behind his thin eyelids. The stupefy was dissolving. The time was now. He'd already been under too long. She grated her teeth sharply as her wand wobbled in her hand. She pointed it at his forehead before clenching her eyes shut and yelling her new spell, "Mutabilis Forana Gamundiz!"

Malfoy's body trembled slightly. The deep lines scrawled into his forehead were softening and his shaggy, unwashed face seemed to redden prettily underneath all the grime. His eyes opened in a heartbeat and he was on his feet in another, pushing her wand away from his face as he did so. His back remained slightly hunched as his weak legs strained to keep him upright against his thick chains. His skin was drawn back like corpse's and his cheeks were sunken and hollow. His eyes were straining and red like he'd been crying for days. In one instant, his skeletal form took her in. His eyes were dry and parched like a Savannah too long without water- dried and crackled.

'It's too late for you now," He said abruptly as though it was the most singular thing he had or would ever utter to another living creature. A cold heat rapidly zipped up her arms and back. His voice came out in a strained gargle as though his vocal chords had been first ferociously plucked and then violently snapped in two, which she supposed, they had.

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Thank you all so much for your continued support. It means so much to me. I apologize for any errors! I tried my best to edit but I, of course, probably missed something.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After completing his ominous statement, Draco stumbled forward as if the weight of his body was too heavy to hold upright. She reached for him and he fell into her arms before slipping down the front of her shirt like an anvil. She held up his forearms while the rest of him sank downward like bench holding a heavy weight directly in its middle-sagging sadly before snapping in two.

He rested this way for a moment before using her body to hoist himself back up. He used her shoulder to steady himself. He looked down at her with rainclouds cluttering his delicate face. His skin was haggard and rough as if he hadn't tended to his complexion in years. The unkempt shingle of hair that swatted at his brow was clearly so out of place that she felt sharp pains in her belly. The Malfoy she'd known since childhood would never allow such roughness of manner to betray his countenance. Part of her wanted to clean him. Her eartips burned at the thought.

"That's a fine greeting," she blew out as if trying to find her breath.

He turned his face away. He was walking aimlessly on calf legged feet and she feared he might fall over again. It was like watching a small child stumbling about without care and it made her stomach pang again.

"They'll know that something is wrong," he whispered just as her first words to him seemed to stain the air above them with no following words to join them. She did not have to ask who. The Indriks had trapped him here and they would feel the shift. "I can't stay here".

She began to protest but he began to wobble off in the direction that she'd originally come from. "Where are you going?"

He did not reply. She caught up him to easily. "I can't believe you." He looked at her with a furrowed brow.

"Well actually I can, I suppose" she said and the line between his brow smoothed. He knew what she thought of him.

"I can't stay in this place. I must get to town. I don't know or care about your business here."

Hermione felt her mental feathers begin to ruffle. The gall of this man would never be something she could get used to. Her rational mind told her that she had to respect him. He did not know what dark depths she'd swam in to find him. And making other people's business his affair was not the Draco Malfoy way but she didn't have to like it. She did, however, know how to speak his mother tongue.

"I've come to help you. My spell will wear off and you'll be a howling wolf again. You need me. And I demand answers." Hermione's hands were at her hips with her feet planted firmly on the ground. She tamped down a smirk.

He stopped his sad trot and waited for her to explain. "I used a rather experimental spell to revive you. Surely you remember what you were like just a few hours ago?"

Malfoy clenched his jaw like a frightened child scrambling to hold on to his mother's hand as she abandons him with unknown relatives. "I'm not sure how you can pretend I didn't just save you from whatever torture you were under." Hermione could not relent. If she showed any weakness, he would strike like the snake he was.

He didn't respond directly and the heavy lines around his gaunt eyes deepened. He rubbed at his throat with something like terror. The memories of his previous state coming back to him like a flash flood. He dropped to his knees again and his tattered robes fluttered to the ground like dancing crows snipping at carrion.

Hermione clenched her teeth as she watched his body bend too far forward and his face crumple like a white, used sheets. He was delicate in his grief and contrition. He reminded her of wadded up tissue paper that could never be smooth again- making reuse impossible. She was not sure if her words had been too blunt and wondered if his previous bravado was a performance of strength rather than a display of inherent togetherness. Perhaps she'd cut too close to the bone too early on and he'd broken with just the whisper of her tongue.

His despair radiated off him like a sailor's song- crashing indeterminately against the waves of his choppy mind. She knew that she ought not disturb him as his feelings slapped against the shore of his frail body and yet the unchanging light of day was growing more livid in her mind. They were exposed in this clearing and the sounds of nothingness were buzzing in her ears like grinning bees ready to attack. The darkness of the scrunched forest welcomed her with its sheath of obscurity.

"You were right. We must keep moving." She pushed the words through her open mouth like a stalled car in mud. He did not move for several moments but eventually made himself stand.

"And we will be staying together," she continued as he began trudging his body forward. He did not look at her and could not see the way her feet planted firmly in the grass. She heard his abrupt snort and knew that she had won.

Malfoy took up walking into the trees and ignored the questions dribbling from Hermione's mouth. He loped through underbrush, branches and impacted leaf colonies with the unsteady gait of an injured hippogriff. She stumbled after him in much the same manner ducking under low hanging branches and placing a steadying hand on tree trunks as he passed by. They were both unused to extensive hiking and made slow travel, yet Malfoy continued to push forward with razor thin perseverance.

The trip started to become unbearable as her legs brittled from exhaustion, her lack of sleep began a strong thumping in her head and her mouth filled with undue saliva. She could not say for sure but she knew she'd been awake for over 24 hours and could not go on. Gasping, Hermione called out to him. He did not respond and continued to hike with even more broken speed. Hermione, frantic at being left behind in this unforgiving terrain, rushed to follow him and promptly slipped on a thin pile of leaves and wet grass.

The forest had never felt so thick with hatred as when Hermione heard his footfalls pause several paces away and then resume a moment later unbroken. She did not bother rousing from her earthen bed on the forest floor. Her back was on fire from her unbroken fall straight to the ground and her body could not continue. Sleep dragged at her eyelids as her splayed limbs lay bruised on the ground- looking like marionette appendages that had been casually cast into a dim corner.

Hermione was quaffling between wakefulness and sleep as the feel of manmade heat nibbled at her skin. She began smelling burning vegetation- smokey and sweet and instantly felt safe. She opened her eyes and sat up slowly on her elbows. Malfoy was huddled far from her on the other side of a small campfire. The flames shadowed his face in a warm light as he stared at her through narrow eyes.

"I left you and did not intend to return," his voice was a dying cat blindly slashing at a good Samaritan's open palms. Hermione did not speak.

"I reached the edge of town when I realized I could not have another sin on my counter. I wasted two days coming back for you." His jaw was tight and he forced the words through bared teeth. She imagined wildly that that would be how a sentient skeleton would talk-through a locked, immobile jaw (that is to say if a skeleton had a mind to discuss something).

"You wasted two days because of yourself," she said evenly. The muscles in his neck spasmed ferociously but he did not argue. And despite the numerous questions tingling in her mind, she instead chose to ask, "How do you know it took two days? There is no sun and moon to tell time by."

"I am buried to this place. I know it." Hermione wondered if he meant to say "married to this place". The turn of phrase was so odd but Draco Malfoy was not the type to make undue grammatical mistakes. If he said it, he meant it.

She moved to question him, but he harshly cut her off. "You are a trespasser. You cannot feel the pulls and tides of this world as I can. You should not have come."

"Your scheming mother has wrapped me in this mystery whether I like it or not."

"Mother," he whispered as though the sound of her name was a gift he did not deserve. He wandered in his thoughts for a moment as though searching for something before looking at her with wide eyes. A change in the tumultuous energy surrounding him came swiftly as though, in the middle of his personal rainstorm, a strong hand had been thrust out to pull him to dry land.

"You've had an epiphany," she accused.

He did not look at her. He was looking over her shoulder to the forest beyond. He pushed himself up with some of the old starkness that struck her in school. He was an island surrounded by raging waters. "Let's continue. You appear recovered."

"Answer my question." She pushed herself up to stand in front of him.

"I will not say it again. I am going on. What you choose to do is your affair now that I've assured your safety. I am absolved."

"Hardly! If this is all some penance or hellscape, you don't decide when you've been absolved. I do! I and I do not forgive you." She slashed her hands through the air wildly cutting through it like stale bread.

As if summoned, a great beast of mountain and air dryed moss and sickly tendrils galloped viciously through the underbrush. The land bent and melted out of the way of the beast's iron clad hooves. It crossed the distance at an immeasurable speed as the world tilted and folded upon itself as the beast approached. Hermione felt her body and soul collapsing and folding like thin origami paper as the atmosphere neatly stacked itself away as if afraid to be called untidy.

She looked at Draco, who was arrested in fear as his body peeled unnaturally like citrus skin yielding back to reveal succulent fruit. She knew without asking that her body was doing the same. WIthout time to tell her, she could not say how long it took for the great beast to shovel through reality to reach them but upon his close arrival, the world snapped back in place like two magnets embracing powerfully. Time and space had restitched itself and yet Hermione's body still felt as if it were about to slither apart.

The beasts mighty antlers knifed through Malfoy's chest without preamble. The animal did not linger. It jerked its appendages out Malfoy's gurgling body as if shaking off pesky flies. Hermione knew she was not screaming. Her throat still felt primly folded like the legs of a debutante. And yet, the eyes of the animal, swirling masses without form or pattern, locked on her face. She attempted to back away but was unable to move. It's unblinking stare locked her in place. Soft puffs of smoke or mist, she could not say, steamed out from its flaring nostrils. It appraised her with clinical professionalism as though examining a patient. It huffed its white smoke directly into her face and nose. Coughing, she watched as it turned its eyes forward and charged through the forest like avenging angel.

"A formal bargain has not been struck." Malfoy coughed out as he clutched his chest. The liquid burbling out was a putrid green and it smelled like a tar pit covering all manner of bones, bubbling flesh and hidden things. He stared at the strange liquid gushing from his body with queasy recognition. "But you have been marked as an absolver amongst other things."

"Forgive me," he ground out as though fighting to remain controlled. He threw out his hand and she wobbled over to grab it before he recoiled it back towards his face as if of its own volition. She remembered that set of face and posture and was barely surprised when his lips broke apart and the otherworldly wailing began again.

Hermione was loathe to repeat the doctored spell she had created. It had appeared to work well before, bringing back the old, unpleasant man she recognized but there was no guarantee of its long term effects or if such a spell could be safely administered twice in such short order. Guilt flowered in her chest as she accepted that she had essentially experimented on him without consent. She tried to rationalize her actions but found the mental fortitude needed was too great.

She lingered on his final plea before descending into fevered madness. He had wanted her forgiveness. Prior to the Indrik's approach, she had staunchly refused to accept his previous, half-hearted apology. Hermione did not work in coincidences. The connection seemed clear. She took a deep breath and tried to quiet the fears in her mind. The encounter with the beast still scraping at her memories like a claw.

She knelt in front of his statue like body grasping at his hand covered face (that she had to admit reminded her too much of Edward Munich's "The Scream" for comfort). Hermione glared into his eyes praying for luck and whispered, "I absolve you of blame."

As if shaking off a sudden chill, Draco Malfoy came back to himself. His hands trailed down the planes of his face before landing at his sides. His screams ebbed away like a gentle tide and the blades in his unseeing eyes widened to take in more light. He was alert.

Malfoy's lips were an impenetrable drawbridge that would not yield. His face a fortress of spikes and poisoned pen needles. Hermione's breath came out in thin, white sheets like wisps of party streamers left up days after the partygoers had gone, leaving behind the wrecked remains of a festive spirit. Something stringy, sticky and ill-defined sloped between her mouth and his pale face. She waited. He stared at her. Finally, he stood and yanked her up with him by hoisting her by the arm.

He immediately dropped his hand from her body and turned back towards his original direction but with a slower, practiced gait of a man used to walking with shorter women. He did not turn around and yet Hermione felt the sticky, gooey tether connecting her soul to his. Onward they loped into the unknown with a target on their backs.

"Where are we going? What was that back there?" she asked after a what she deemed an appropriate allotment of silent reflection. They had been walking along the forest floor for an indeterminate period of time and she saw nothing to ease her fears.

"I knew your general curiosity would come bursting out sooner or later" came the bored drawl that only a man of particular means could possibly make.

"Well if you knew, why didn't you anticipate my needs?" Hermione had intended to say "anticipate my question". Freudian slips and all that.

Never one to pass up an easy remark, Malfoy sneered at her. "I didn't realize your comfort was one of my primary concerns."

Unable to contain herself, she replied with a haughty huff, "Consideration for one's travelling partner is a generally accepted expectation in polite society".

Malfoy stopped abruptly and began gesturing around them slowly as if demonstrating a simple concept to a particularly tired toddler. "This is not England. This may not even be earth. There is no "polite society". We are well and truly on our own here and I for one am not concerned with niceties."

Her tired eyes watered as she yawned and glared at him."It isn't niceties. As you said we are here together."

"My survival is my top priority"

"Ever the selfish one."

"You don't know the half."

"No I don't. You won't tell me," she shot back.

Glares abounded between the odd couple. Hermione sighed and rubbed angrily at her tired eyes. She was an instructor about to deliver ego-crushing marks to her 3rd years.

"We have to share information if we want to survive. Or whatever it is we are attempting to do."

"I don't have to like the idea." He hissed.

"You can be assured that I have even less fondness for the endeavor as a whole. Your mother has tied me up like a sacrificial lamb for the duration of this whole project."

He looked downcast for a moment and she committed the look to memory. "Yes, for that, I can only offer my most truthful apology. I never dreamt of the lengths she would go to for a speck of hope on my behalf."

Hermione's eyes popped open in surprise.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

"Of all the moments I expected us to have, an apology never entered my thoughts."

"Don't make this a moment Granger."

"Too late. We might actually get on afterall".

"Marvelous," Malfoy drawled sarcastically.

They stopped between tree trunk number 11000 and presumably 111142 or so Hermione assumed. His brow was elegantly dabbed with a light sheen of perspiration from the quick pace he'd set. She knew that her own skin was damp in the most unattractive manner but decided comparing herself to a modern aristocrat wasn't fair for anyone.

She wondered if he intended to stop and set up camp although she had no idea how close they were to whatever destination he had in mind. Right now, she didn't care. She was panting and desperately wanted a lie down in front of a spectacular flame strong enough to burn away her fears.

Without directly inquiring, which she reserved for when she was truly curious or bored enough to start a small row, she'd deduced that Malfoy did not have a wand nor could he do any wandless magic. His body, when in school, hummed with confidence and the self assuredness of a child who knew of his own significance and raw ability. As a man, he carried himself hawkishly as though on the lookout for interlopers, those who would see through his facade and realize his magical impotence. Heaven help any person who sought out his secret. The rapid savagery of his self protection would tear them apart.

"I could start a fire if you intend to camp here?' her statement turned into a question at the last minute and she grimaced.

"It's hardly cold and we don't need fire to see by. The sky never changes. I created the other one in hopes of waking you. It took bloody forever."

"I'd like the opportunity to pretend we're camping if that's alright with you. I haven't slept in days and I'd like a bit of ambience."

"I had no idea you were the type Granger"

"I refuse to unpack that statement. I think I'll transfigure a tent for us."

"Only one?"

"I don't entirely trust you not to run if left to your own devices."

He laughed without a pleasing note in his voice. "I had expected that trust would be a thing of the past for you after all of your time in the wizarding world." Hermione bristled at the dig about her parentage. She was as much a part of this world as he was!

"Oh come off it Granger. I didn't mean it that way." He sighed tiredly when he saw her face. "I only meant that our world is full of wonder and possibility and yet it has a sinister sister face that only a deep dive can see. I expected that a swot like you would have seen straight through our fantastical facade to our decadent depravity"

"Please continue. I'd love to hear this coming from a Sacred 28." Hermione could never admit she had no idea what he was on about but hoped that she'd catch up the longer he spoke.

"I never pegged you for an elitist but I guess we all have changed since grade school." He rubbed his face as if it would help him explain himself.

"This is how it is. We use our powers as if they are god given rights. We use them for our own gain at our own mercy in the most self serving ways possible. I'm not immune to the world at large. Our gifts could solve world hunger, end depravity against children, help humanity reach the nearest planet if we put a few brilliant wizards together. And yet we hide when it's convenient and allow the earth we live on to deteriorate with each passing day. There's not going to be a lot of potion making happening in a wad of greenhouse gas. So no, I wouldn't trust one wizard in this world. Not if I were you. I assume that's what got you stuck with me in the first place."

Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest. She attempted to formulate a response as he stared directly into her face for the first time. He clenched his jaw and angled himself towards a small clearing. He gestured towards it haughtly.

"What?" she snapped with red cheeks.

"Amaze me with your perfect spellwork. I'm ready for a lie-down and would love a bed if that isn't too much trouble," his voice simmered with disdain. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding in kind.

Hours passed silently as the pair laid in opposite directions in their one room tent. Hermione had transfigured broken branches into sleeping bags that were much too scratchy and smelled faintly of rotted wood.

"Granger," Draco suddenly sneered. "This is without a doubt, the most uncomfortable and smelly material I have ever experienced."

"I apologize that your pampered arse isn't getting 1000 count Egyptian sheets" she hissed. Her cheeks flamed as spoke and she was glad they were back to back.

"Smartest witch of our age," he whispered fiercely.

A/N I want to thank all of you who are supporting this story. It means so much to me! Please continue to let me know your thoughts on the story (even the snarky anonymous reviewers are hilarious!). I hope you all enjoyed the DHr interactions. Now that they are together, they'll have many more chances to get to know one another. Please settle in for a medium-ish length story where our characters take their time learning to trust one another. I don't think anything else would be believable.

Also I apologize for the long absence. My Thanksgiving-New Years eve time period was crazy! I traveled to D.C., Montreal, did some photo-shoots, multiple holiday and work parties, and still worked my regular education job. It's been chaotic to say the least.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter 5

Hermione woke up from the type of sleep that left her feeling wanting, dry mouthed and raw. She was sure that she dreamed of screaming paintings that looked like platinum blondes and doors that ate leather bound books. She couldn’t be sure. She slowly eased her body up as not to disturb Malfoy, who she was surprised to find, huddled into his sleeping bag like newborn fowl- slick with sweat and leg tremors.

She observed his troubled face and thought back to her whirlwind encounter with him and this mysterious world of never ending light. His voice was secretive and she knew that every word he spoke was woven with lies and half admissions. There was an inky bloom of dishonesty swaddling her like an infant and she knew she was missing something. And she knew that Malfoy wasn’t. He’d put some pieces together and she despised him for it. 

She crept out of the transfigured tent and trotted down the hill to relieve her bladder and do a quick scourgify on her clothes.This bonding time with Malfoy couldn’t be more lovely but some personal space was definitely in order, she thought sarcastically. Hermione found a thin stream quietly dipping between tree roots and trampled leaves. She splashed her face and arms; she considered taking a drink of the cool water but thought better of it. Every moment in this world made her feel further and further from her own shores. She wasn’t sure if the anchor to her real life could be rusted and degraded but she didn’t want to find out. It would be a little Greek tragedy for her if she discovered eating of this world caused her to be a permanent resident. Looking longingly at the water one last time, Hermione turned back towards camp, towards Malfoy.

When she ambled back up the treeline, she felt a jolt of electricity dance up her legs. Malfoy was at the edge of their campsite twitching uncontrollably on the ground. This attack was not like his earlier afflictions. He looked as though a strong crucio was seizing his bones. Hermione propelled her body forward and ran to him. She was over 20 meters away and she yelled helplessly towards him as she struggled her way uphill. Guilt ate at her insides as she realized she’d left him defenseless and alone without warning.

As she got closer, she saw Malfoy’s pale skin losing even more pigment. He was a quickly shrivelling bag of bones and she used all of her strength to dash the final meters to get to him. Malfoy’s face crumpled in agony as he curled his lithe body into a tight ball. She stopped cold a few meters away from him. She saw a strange rippling in the air that reminded her of heat waves cascading in the desert sun or Harry's invisibility cloak when it danced in a light breeze (a dead giveaway that something was hiding in plain sight). She rubbed her eyes and the disturbing sight disappeared. 

She made her up the rest of the way, winded and damp. She felt a cold prickling up her arms and down her back as though she'd been shoved into an ice bath unexpectedly. She felt the creaky whining of desperation tickle her mind and she slapped her hand to her forehead as if to ward off the sensation. She attempted to collect herself and investigate Malfoy's condition but she felt as though she were being encircled and watched. The strange transparent rippling had returned and was all around her in pounding waves. Something was here and it felt like gagging death.

Hermione felt rooted to the spot, inches from Malfoy and yet mentally miles away. She saw there were ripples all around his body and she guessed that whatever was upon them was causing his torment. They would be coming for her soon and then they’d both be lost. Deciding that any action was better than inaction, she swung her wand arm in a frantic, sweeping motion but could not think of any effective words against something she could not see. She was a wounded animal growling pitifully as the snakes approached- smelling her dripping blood. 

Suddenly, she breathed in deeply and regained her purpose. She had come all this way to save Malfoy and untangle this mystery. She’d be damned if she gave up now and allowed the two of them to die in oblivion with no one to mourn their passing. Hermione reached deep into that frozen part of herself, the battleworn child who threw hexes like a territorial lioness and nearly roared. Expelliarmus bellowed out of her throat and she felt the strength of her words blow the rippling attackers away. She instantly felt relief as if a dementor had finally slithered away from her. 

She ran to Malfoy who was no longer spasming on the ground; his torturers had been dispelled. He lay there like a deflated balloon with no wind to guide him. He looked both terribly haggard and unbelievably young. She sometimes forgot they were barely in their mid twenties- still so little. She reached down toward his scrunched up face and cupped his cheek gently. He did not immediately stir. She carefully moved his head into her lap and stroked his hair as she used to do with her mother. His face smoothed and he let out a tiny, tortured sound like a whimpering baby too exhausted to cry anymore.

“Are you alright?” Hermione whispered in a shaky voice. 

“No,” he said with a scoff as if the idea of being alright was completely foreign to him. 

Unsure what to say and even more unsure of why she had his head in her lap, Hermione tore at her bottom lip. She felt the soft pattering of tears run down his cheeks and into her lap. She did not comment and looked off to the side, observing their campsite. 

Everything looked as it did before, save for the disturbed leaves and roots that were upturned in Malfoy’s seizure. She could not hear anything surrounding them but the heat of despair and longing burned her up as if whatever phantoms she’d disarmed had left raging flames in their wake. Fright clasped an ugly tentacle around her neck making it difficult to breathe normally.

“Malfoy,” she whispered again, “I don’t know what attacked you but I’m not sure how long those invisible things will stay stunned. Can you move?”

“Oh Granger, how little you understand.” Malfoy drawled listlessly. He picked his head up from her lap with nary a thanks and moved himself into a sprawled position like a flayed roast chicken. It was the least elegant pose she’d ever seen him make, but she was too annoyed with his flippant words to laugh. 

“Enlighten me,” she said through clenched teeth. 

“They’ve gone. Your curse threw them far and wide. You’ve given us a momentary reprieve.” 

He did not bother glancing at her and instead seemed intent to stare at the locks of hair covering his eyes. Malfoy used his soft breaths to push the hair falling into his face away from his eyes. He continued to do this for several moments as the hair would inevitably float back down to his lashes again and he’d repeat the puffing motion. In frustration, Hermione roughly swiped his hair to the side with an air of finality. She promptly filed away the softness of his sweat soaked hair and smooth skin for her late night musings. Malfoy merely raised a delicate eyebrow at her stunt (not even eternal torture could mar his perfectly groomed brows she noted bitterly). 

Hermione glared at him with a tight jaw but refused to repeat herself. He knew that answer was not nearly sufficient. Malfoy sighed and raised his tattered garment to reveal several small bruises dotting his emaciated chest. The marks reminded her of the marks passionate sucking could induce on soft neck skin and she reddened.

Malfoy smiled tightly at her reaction and nodded his head to indicate that they were exactly what she surmised. “My soul still has form and stature and I feel and move as I did in our world.”

Hermione did not breathe as she watched Malfoy’s gaze turn over her shoulder. His eyes were slightly glazed and feverish as though reciting from an antique memory. She knew that to disturb him even with a harsh sigh would cut off his soliloquy. She waited on baited strings and prayed not to disturb his peace. 

He continued on his shelled out voice, “Souls that dwell too long in this unceasing place decay much more quickly than I’d like to admit. Without life’s bouncing and gyrations, the soul seems to realize that its original function has been served like an owl with no letters to deliver. The soul either carves its way into a new home, ascends to the great beyond or corrupts. Souls must have an essential function. They aren’t meant for idle reprieve.”

He let that ghost of information twitter in the air for a few beats too long and Hermione remembered his innate showmanship. Whatever he did and however he did it, the man had style. With a tiny flourish to his voice as though getting to the final number, the ending scene, he revealed his trick. “Those souls that refuse to be reborn or move on to the great beyond, out of fear or stubbornness or what have you, become phantoms that feed on the still healthy souls that reside here. The more they feed, the stronger they become until they are able to spin new bodies for themselves where they can return to the living world to suck the life out of all things they come across.”

Hooded figures with gooey, bony fingers levitated through her mind. Ah, those ghastly things. 

“And what happens to the souls they suck here?” Hermione finally asked. She continued to stare down at the sucking marks maring his skin. 

“They suck until there is nothing left but a scratchy husk that either disintegrates or becomes as they are. You have saved me from deciding which option I’d prefer to take...for the time being”. He closed his eyes as he said those final words. Hermione wished to be hugged or even to have the weight of Malfoy’s head in her lap once more. She had not felt so cold in such a long time.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malfoy insisted that he was ready to continue moving after his final tremors petered out. While she had her doubts about his health, Hermione was also feeling antsy to leave their campgrounds. The dark and dusky scent of death refused to dissipate. 

Hermione watched as Malfoy collected himself and began to stand. He wobbled on his legs again and cursed angrily. His mouth was a rigid straight line and his fingers dug so deeply into his palms that droplets of blood snuck down his wrists. And the pallor that she’d seen on him from before was no match for the gray cast that smothered his features now. 

Fear and frustration slapped at her bones. “You’re being a bloody idiot. You’re in no condition to start traveling.”

“Not another word,” he spat. 

Hermione was steaming with unchecked rage, confusion and exhaustion. Three ingredients for a proper row if she’d ever been the judge of it. She felt the heat under her collar loosening her resolve to be civil; she felt the prickling of excitement nipping at her insides as she felt herself lose control. Watching Malfoy abuse his already broken body incensed a demanding righteousness within her that she had not felt since Kreacher had quite literally chewed up her last ditch effort at salvation- a messily knitted bow tie.

“I have plenty of words left and I intend to use them,” her voice was a kick in the rear but Malfoy only rolled his eyes. 

“Merlin, I forgot what an enormous bint you can be.” Malfoy’s cheeks bloomed with vitality as he was able to revel in the disdain he loved so dearly. A disturbing thought wafted through her mind as she saw his cheeks redden prettily: he was a rather attractive man underneath all that grime and cultivated disdain.

“That makes one of us. I have excellent recall and remember quite easily that you can be a right brat when you want to be. We’re staying an extra night. If you keep annoying me, I’ll make your sleeping bag extra scratchy.” 

Hermione had inched every closer to Malfoy as she found her anger rising. She was close enough to reach out and throttle him and she felt her pointer finger jutting into his chest. He looked indignantly at her stiff finger but did not back away.

“Why do you care?” His question tripped her. She looked into his unnaturally cold, curious eyes and saw true confusion laced within his gaze. She also realized he was much closer than he had been before. Malfoy had slowly inched into her pointed finger which Hermione refused to retract. His chest was more firm than she’d imagined but she could not relent now.

“Because you’re pushing your body too far. You’ll collapse.” She stabbed her finger at him again for emphasis. He winced slightly and Hermione provided him with a smug albeit guilty smile. She hadn’t meant to disturb his injuries but she had a point to make!

“More the better for you. Perhaps with me gone, you’ll wake from this nightmare.” His voice suddenly shifted like sand. It was smoother now; the harshness replaced with something ripe and sweet. Hermione’s lower belly burned and tumbled with a feeling she could not remember ever having. 

“Just like a Slytherin,” she huffed. “You’re so accustomed to being self serving that you can’t understand anyone who isn’t”. She used that moment as an excuse to turn away from him in feigned annoyance. She stiffened slightly as she felt his cold body behind her. 

“Careful Granger.” He murmured with that same honeyed voice, “if you keep sweet talking me like this, I may not be able to let you go.”

“Perhaps if I was still a school girl, I’d have fallen for that little performance.” Hermione’s voice was wavering slightly and she knew he’d heard it. She stewed with rage until it fizzled out abruptly. Two could play at such games. She swiveled back to face him and found his body centimeters from her own.

“But I realize there’s only one way to reach your sort. So let’s have a little wager. Winner decides what we do next.”

Malfoy’s tired face transformed into open interest now. Hooked.

“Terms?” he replied attempting to sound unimpressed and slightly bored. He pretended to inspect his craggy fingernails as though inspecting a recently buffed manicure with his eyes slanting slyly in her direction. She hated how nonchalant he could pretend to be but she knew he was burning with excitement.

Hermione tapped her finger to her chin and cocked her head to the side. “You don’t have a wand so nothing overtly magical would do...so a battle of knowledge!”

Draco quirked that irksome eyebrow. “I object ostensibly.”

“Why?”

“With no fact checkers or at the very least knowledgeable books to consult, how could we convince the other that our facts are correct? And seeing as you’ve been living much longer than I have at this point, it stands to reason that you have had more time to study and research. Any questions you would pose would leave me at a disadvantage.”

Hermione attempted to quirk her own eyebrow but had no way to measure the success of this gesture. “Did the great Draco Malfoy admit a weakness? A possibility of inferiority? How very shocking,” Hermione sniffed primly.

“Hardly Granger,” Malfoy said as though condescending to explain warming charms to a very unintelligent blanket. “Admitting a lack of facts does not equate to a lack of mental acuity. Surely you must realize this? I am simply stating the obvious. I have little knowledge of the outside world and how can I be sure that you won’t surprise me with questions that I have no way of verifying? Rather unsportsmanlike terms for a Gryffindor.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the insinuation that she would ever do something so underhanded but breathed out slowly through her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. “Fine,” she started, accepting that she was falling into his trap, “what would you suggest?”

The smirk on his face widened in pure glee. Hermione was almost happy to see him looking lively even if it was so obviously at her own expense. She had apparently developed a penchant for self induced masochism. Lovely. 

“How kind of you to ask,” he drawled, “I suggest a quick game of Lamplidrinia.”

It burned Hermione to ask what in the seven hells he was talking about, but spit out the question anyway. “I’ve been playing it since practically my infancy. I’m surprised you’d never heard of it but it is a rather exclusive game so I suppose it's natural your lot has never come across it.”

“If you have a point, I suggest you arrive at it quickly.”

“That wasn’t a dig Granger. It's simply an acknowledgement of the realities of class differences.”

“This isn’t a lecture of socio-economic status Malfoy. Get on with it.”

“Traditionally herbologists were put on retainer by many wealthy families for generations. Expansive gardens and elaborate plant care and the like. Well the children were often caught trampling rare foliage in fits of boredom or simply running amuck on the grounds. Also, the lamplidrinia, a spark emitting firebug, had recently been brought to England by early American magical creature smugglers. Lamplidrinia are notorious pests that eat the color off of flower petals leaving discolored splotches and discolored trails on plants. Completely harmless but aesthetically unacceptable to pureblood ladies comparing gardens at afternoon tea. A game was devised to solve the issue. Special nets were forged so that children could catch them at dusk when they appeared. Whichever child caught the most would win. A variation includes charming one of the bugs to a glowing blue like a golden snitch. Whoever caught the blue lampy automatically won.”

Hermione’s interest peaked at what seemed a rather innocent pastime that she’d never heard of, “How would that solve the pest problem? Once the children caught them, they’d just be released again.”

Malfoy’s eyes shifted to the ground and Hermione’s teeth instantly clenched. She already knew she was going to have to yell at him. “I said they were special nets. As soon as the lampy crossed into the net, its body would explode into mini fire lights. Quite lovely if you can get past the morbidity of the whole affair.”

“That’s barbaric!” she shrieked.

“Most of the best things typically start out that way,” he said coldly. “You can’t enjoy the theater without remembering its origins in gladiator tournaments. Most elaborate games were ritualistic before they were played purely for fun.”

HIs glacial eyes were hard and flippant; her’s were a raging tempest. “That doesn’t make it any less cruel. And I refuse to play such a game.”

“Cruelty runs in the blood,” he shrugged nonchalantly as though he were discussing the weather.

“Regardless, the game, like so many other terrible things, has been changed to accomodate a less brutal reality...more palatable for today’s sensitivities. Herbologists (with a little nudging) developed a charm that allowed lampys to eat and suckle to their hearts desire without altering the plant’s outward appearance. As I said, their nibbling really had no effect on the health of any plants. They purely ruined appearance and perception which as we both know is unacceptable in polite society. Besides, the lampys are quite pretty to watch as they swirl around at dusk. Killing them never sat right with me.”

Hermione felt her anger subside slightly. It was what Malfoy wasn’t saying that cooled her ire. “You created a new game,” she accused. Malfoy turned away from her without responding and gestured imperiously at the crunchy leaves on the ground like a king addressing an adoring crowd. 

“Simply conjure some lampys from these leaves and two nets and we’ll keep score. Don’t forget to transfigure a blue one so I can beat you with relative ease.” His voice was bored and indulgent like the little king he was. Hermione opened her mouth to press him but shut it firmly. She swept her wand and created ( what someone with no prior knowledge of said creature could reasonably be expected to produce) several multitudes of shining lampys with one special blue one fluttering high above their heads with two nets to match. Hermione focused on darkening their glittering wings so that they could easily contrast with the bright sky. She envisioned a tiny butterfly like insect with black sparkling wings that winked at the beholder as they flapped by. A cloak of peace cradled the two wizards as the transfigured creatures floated serenely above them like shooting stars.

Hermione threw his net and he caught it with soft grace. He did not look at her but instead watched the flying bugs with a steel trap face and twinkling eyes. His eyes were a child’s at Christmas as the child took in the silvery bows and red wrapping paper glittering underneath the heavy scented fir tree. The juxtaposition of his wonder filled eyes and his hard face was jarring. She realized he was beautiful. 

Malfoy began lazily swatting his net to and fro, catching bunches of transfigured lampys at a time. Hermione stood still, lost in revery and in revelations. Malfoy tapped her forehead with his net and looked at her in annoyance. She blinked in surprise and came back to the moment.

“Your physical ineptitude is truly astounding Granger. I have never put so little effort into sport in my life and I’ve already taken 20 points. Why bother with a wager if you have no intentions of attempting to win? Brightest witch.” he scoffed that last bit with very little bite and she realized that was becoming a bit of a gag between them. Strange phenomena indeed when they had shared jokes. 

“I have no intention on losing,” she said cheekily as she began wildly netting the little bugs with reckless abandon. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed in challenge and they both began thrashing their nets across the air like party streamers whizzing across an entryway. Hermione stifled a small giggle as she cut Malfoy’s net off, stealing more lampys for herself. Soon the two were chasing and swatting at each other competitively until they were nearly tied. Their skin shone with cooling sweat and Hermione knew they were both filthy but found that she didn’t mind the feeling of sticky cloth blanketing her skin. She did not notice the winces and slight wheezes Malfoy badly attempted to hide (such was her delight that she missed the rather blatant clues of his discomfort). 

Hermione saw too late that Malfoy had spied the blue lampy floating several inches above their heads. With reflexes that she didn’t believe the former seeker still had, Malfoy lept high into the air to grab the winning blue. His graceful arch turned to a swan dive as he suddenly spasmed while in midair. Hermione rapidly called out a cushioning charm that only barely materialized in time to break his fall. She dropped her net and ran to kneel beside him. He was clutching at his chest and sweating more profusely than she’d realized. Fear clawed at her but she brushed his protective fingers away without a thought to his personal space or rights and pulled up his robes. The skin previously covered in sucking bites had broken out into deep, oozing sores. They smelled of decay and rot. 

“Technically, I did catch the blue. So we should be going on our way but perhaps you were right. I may need a moment to rest.” his sarcastic tone was severely dampened as he attempted it through heavy fits of anguished intakes of breath. 

“You’re admitting I was correct. Truly astonishing.” Hermione said absently as the shock of his injuries muddled her mind. 

“A rather Pyrrhic victory I’m sure.” he said dryly before crying out in pain once again.  
\--------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Sewing Slytherin who’s been here from the beginning and to Jacpin2002 who not only commented on FF but also AO3! You two are amazing. And thank you to everyone else following my story now. Your comments and ideas have really helped shape this story. Please continue to support me as it keeps me going :) Side note...how long have dramione facebook pages been a thing??? I recently started following a few. Literally who knew and didn’t tell me? Haha!


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

“You knew you were in no shape to continue. Why in Merlin’s name would you push yourself?” Hermione had to clasp her hands at her sides to keep from throttling Malfoy. The aroma of sordid air and white ash wafted off of Malfoy’s wounds making Hermione’s nose twitch and itch as the initial smell of urban decay rapidly dissipated. She wondered now how a truly pure soul would smell and decided to mentally document this moment for further research once back at home.

“Your timing is impeccable as always,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “and as much as I enjoy a spirited tongue lashing as much as the next bloke, perhaps this discussion could be tabled for the time being?”

“It is _ absolutely _ the wrong time to have this conversation but I demand to know what you could be thinking of!” She barked angrily although she knew he _ did _ have a rather pressing point about timing and all that nonsense. 

“Later.”

“No. Right now.”

Deciding to take a more sympathetic approach, Malfoy switched from hissing snake to wounded kitten. He practically mewled, “Granger, I’m in pain”. He swept a lazy hand over his entire person to indicate that he did in fact hurt _ everywhere _. 

“And apparently you have been for some time. Taking five minutes to explain yourself won’t make much of a difference. I’m sick of being in the dark! Besides, you’re in pain not dying,”she snapped. Hermione may have been a bleeding heart but she knew when she was being put on and it infuriated her to no end. 

“I never knew you could be so cruel. What would the Weasels think if they heard you?” he asked before looking at her stonewalled face and sighing, “Fine. Every second you stay in the forest, your connection to the near shore gets weaker. I can’t afford to have your death on my record. I’m carrying quite enough sins as it is.”

“The near shore?”

“Where we come from. The land of the living. We are in Indrik's Purgatory right now. The final death trap before a soul reaches the far shore or the spirit land.” 

“What does any of this have to do with my death?”

“Quite hilarious that that’s your second question. Absolutely no self preservation skills in you, brightest witch. We’ll teach you yet”. He managed a sweaty smirk that lacked the normal potency.

“I’d think you’d be glad of that fact, otherwise you wouldn’t be alive,“ she shot back. Hermione grimaced as soon as the words charged out of her mouth. Malfoy looked away from her face before breathing in deeply as if in preparation for a great oratorical display. He opened his mouth and Hermione waited silently, wondering at his reply. He closed his mouth and shook his head as if to rid himself of his original thoughts and then he opened his mouth to try again. Hermione studied his face and wonders what he means to say before his expression darkens. 

With the look of a man who has never witnessed a rainbow after a storm, Malfoy responds,”I am in your debt again Granger. Let me repay it.”

She only stared at him like one does with a particulary stupid person. “Yes, of course. You want information.”

“I bloody well do!” In response, Malfoy’s lips quirked in what could be loosely classified as a small, genuine smile and Hermione felt as if she’d missed something. 

“As I said, souls cannot linger in the forest for too long. You are both spirit and body so I can only guess at what this forest is doing to you. If I can get you to the far shore, you'll be protected,” he whispered before adding “At least for a time.”

“Stop being cagey. Full honesty, remember?”

“I’ve told you all I can be sure of. I don’t work in half cocked assumptions unlike your lot. Who jumps into another world without having any idea what they’re getting themselves into?” Malfoy wiped his mouth reflexively as though he’d swallowed something fowl. 

“So we just need to get to the far shore. Is that the town you were speaking of?”

“There is no “we” anymore. As you’ve so callously pointed out, I’m in no condition to continue on,” he gritted his teeth once again as though he were about to say something truly unpleasant, “I give you permission to view my memories and find the appropriate path to the _ Town of the Far Shore _. I’m too weak to relay the directions just now.”

“You’re truly an imbecile if you think I’m going on without you.”

“Stuff the loyalty in your shirt Granger. Do the spell and be done with it. I tire of this conversation.” His voice was taut like a silken strand preparing to snap. 

Ignoring him completely, Hermione waved her wand in front of his rotting chest. “Episkey!” she shouted. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. She knew that was a long shot. 

She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. She thought back to her miniscule healer training and produced another spell, “Reparifors!” She watched as the sores on his body began repairing themselves and she smiled gleefully. She glanced at Malfoy’s face which was tight with frustration. She raised her wand to produce the spell again, with more force to fully close the wounds, when she noticed the tissue had slowly stopped knitting itself back together and was in fact beginning to unravel and rot again.

At her stunned expression, Malfoy chuckled darkly. “If I thought that would have worked, I would have been the first to suggest it. I’m not a masochist at least not in the ways you’d think.” Hermione decided to once again file that comment away for later. Priorities. 

“I don’t understand!” she panicked as she began producing the spell with more and more fervor. Hermione felt her skin dampen with the exertion and she felt on the verge of collapse or tears. She raised her wand again, determined that her pronunciation must be off, when she felt a clammy hand on her wrist. She looked over to see Malfoy’s steel eyes grounding her with a look a father would give an adorably wayward child. He shook his head slightly and gestured tiredly towards his skull. When she began to sniffle, he smirked slightly before closing his eyes like a bolt locked door. It was at that moment that she realized she was crying. This was the second time in as many months that she found herself crying for him. She sniffled and rubbed furiously at her eyes.

“Tears for me, brightest witch?” he whispered in surprise. His eyes were still locked tight and he had a painfully trembling chest. “Perhaps there is hope for me yet. I am well aware that you don’t waste valuable kindness on those who don’t expressly deserve it.”

“Will getting to the far shore help you recover?” she asked hopefully. She couldn’t let him drift away again. She’d taken him into her responsibility from the moment she’d saved his obituary photo and letting him go was like letting go of SPEW. It could not be borne.

“No, my body has been severely defiled whilst in purgatory. I cannot pass the barrier into town.”

“Can I absolve you again?” she asked hysterically. 

“Not for this. These pains aren’t a result of my sins. They are the result of being corrupted by unclean spirits.”

“Ritual cleansing?” she asked as a sense of unease spread down her fingers.

“My but you catch on fast.” he drawled.

“Your winning personality continues to shine even in the darkest of hours Malfoy.”

“I am cursed to be incredibly charming. A family trait,” his lip was dampened with unwashed sweat as he attempted to drawl out his response.

“Tell me what to do and I won’t pester you about why you didn’t mention cleansing in the first place.”

“A miscast ritual will kill you and I’ll still have your death on my record. I knew I was never leaving this place. I can handle my own affairs. Get on with the legilimency,” he hissed.

“Tell me what to do.”

“I have determined the course of action that suits me best and there’s nothing worse than a meddler. I decide how I go... at least allow me that much autonomy.”

Her face, her tiny hands did not waver. “You would deny me.” His astonishment came out like an unrepentant fact written in blood. His ears twitched as if hearing the whisper of rain against the shell of his ear for the first time. The idea of no was a singularly novel one.

“Tell me what to do,” Hermione repeated calmly. Malfoy opened his eyes and stared her down. She met his stare and refused to turn away. Finally, he exhaled in defeat and looked away from her wooden eyes.

“Bury me and burn me,” he muttered. Hermione blinked owlishly at him. 

“Only a truly pure soul can cleanse a defiled one which can be a bit of a pickle if that helper isn’t completely pure. You’ll be devoured by the same scourge that has taken me if you aren’t completely untainted, albeit significantly more slowly. Last chance to change your mind. Sure you’re clean enough?”

“Procedurals?”

“The triumvirate: air, fire and soil. Rub dried earth into my sores, blow air into my mouth, then bury me in a hole and set it on fire. Won’t it hurt.” Hermione quirks an eyebrow. “ Fine. Yes, of course it will hurt.” 

“How will I know that it is complete?”

“When I crawl out or disintegrate I suppose.”

Hermione brushed away the blankets of leaves and twigs covering the ground around them to reveal the powdery brown dirt fermenting beneath. “What is the soil made of? It glints oddily when it hits the light just so.”

“Decaying souls don’t disappear. Everything has its purpose. This soil, those branches even those leaves are remnants of a life completed. One day this soil, this place will bring forth new life and new bodies. The life cycle will not end but it explains why they don’t say much.” Malfoy gestured towards the castoff branches and foliage surrounding them. “Too busy being a broken twig and all that rot.”

  
  


“Walk me through this.”

“So eager to learn,” His hand rose up toward her cheek before falling back to his side. Her cheeks reddened as she looked over his shoulder at honestly anything that wasn’t him.

“First, dig me a grave,” he commanded and she instantly envisions herself in a dirty pillowcase bowing at his feet. “I must be interred to be reborn clean.”

“Dig it yourself.” 

“Unclean, remember?” he smirked and she knew he was starting to enjoy ordering her about despite the circumstances. “I cannot participate in this ritual. It is on your shoulders, brightest witch.”

“Right,” her leg jiggled furiously and she placed her hand on her knee to stop the shaking. “I’m perfectly capable of handling this.” 

“You managed to make a miracle out of those two mumpdungs you call friends. If anyone can pull this off it’s you.”

“Don't.” she seethed.

“I have never doubted your stubborn capability, brightest witch,” he replies soberly.

“Oh for Merlin's sake stop calling me that.”

“Never my brightest witch. Not when it annoys you so.” She pretended to not hear the “my”. _ What in holy hell does that mean? _

Hermione dug the grave with a conjured spade. He insisted that a magically dug grave would not satisfy the ritual. She caught him smirking up at her sweaty face and arms and wondered: _ how many lies doesnhe tells on a daily basis? _

Soon, the defiled man became too frail to speak or even grunt in pain. His sores smelled more strongly of putrescence and cloying despair. Malfoy was clipped to consciousness by a thin, wavering string stretched beyond its limits. Hermione began digging with the ferocity of a treasure hunter stumbling upon the pulsing holy grail. Her fingers locked and cramped as she threw her body into her work. With her headspace clear of all distractions, she ignored her tattered hands until a rough valley has been formed near Malfoy’s body.

She performed a weightless charm on his frail frame and lifted him like a precious glass sculpture too delicate to even tip to the side. She dropped him rather clumsily into the crude hole when her concentration abruptly broke. Her heart panted heavily and her hands were trembling. She had the grace of a newborn fowl. He glared at her and she glared back in shame.

Once settled, he twists and turns weakly to find a more comfortable position before nodding to himself, satisfied with his work. His steel smooth eyes turned towards her again and she felt as if he were clawing into her very soul with his boundless gaze. Finally, he retracted his sharp eyes from her, shutting them softly as though going down for an afternoon nap. A tear tracks down her face; the stillness cupping them together was too tight.

He braced his fists over his chest, before exhaling deeply while hollowing out his cheeks as though allowing his very spirit to seep out through his nostrils into his makeshift coffin. She had never seen anything more horrifyingly beautiful and yet so utterly grotesque. A gothic beauty. She realized with a sharp exhale of her own that she loved him..._ in a completely cosmic, we are the world, we are the children sort of way _.

With the cloudless sky casting shadows over Malfoy’s face giving him the appearance of a hollowed corpse, Hermione stumbled forward then reached down to grab him by the back of the neck. Pulling in all of her magic, all of her fears and all of her hopes into one single breath, Hermione gently nudges his mouth open before forcing all of it into his tattered body. She pulled back in time for him to clamp his mouth shut as though savoring a fine red on his palate. His head jiggled slightly to indicate that he was ready and she deposited the upturned earth she had previously tilled over him. Hermione shook away the ironic thought that she and only she would bear witness to the purging of Malfoy’s tattered soul. He would reemerge baptized from a purging fire. Clean.

A stalwart priestess coaxing the excess decay from a stubborn vessel, Hermione murmurs incendio over the funeral pyre watching the flames bubble and snap at the interred earth. The defilements began wisping up like steam from the ground as the fire traveled deep into the earth. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as the fire burrowed deep into the ground. Malfoy’s inhumane screams attacked her ears and she dug her nails into her sides. She recognizes his shrieks as a muddy melody that could only be deciphered by her. Her mind was clogged with the heady meaning of his nonsense words as her own screams fastened to his; schoolhouse bully and victim chanting a binding hymnal of sorrow and regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I am currently revising the first chapters for clarity and syntax and all that, but it shouldn’t majorly change anything in the plot! I am beta-less so please excuse my errors while I work on this! Also the concept of the near/far shore is completely stolen from my favorite anime, Noragami. I hope you all are staying safe and socially distant. Thinking of you all during this time and hope my story can help take your mind off of things for a few moments as so many of your stories have done for me <3
> 
> Also does anyone know how to attach a picture to a story?????


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last episode featured a ritualistic burial. This episode is all about the aftermath.

Hermione shakily repeated the ancient words that Malfoy taught her. She prayed her pronunciation was correct. She could hear Malfoy clawing from six feet under making the earth above his grave shift and shake like an earthquake. Hemerion stuttered over her words as she desperately tried to tune him out. Hermione regretted ever coming here. Ever accepting that stupid invitation to tea. She could taste the rumpled dirt in her mouth. She could hear his muffled cries when she closed her eyes.

As the fire continued to tunnel further into Malfoy’s grave, she sagged to her knees as her spell was complete. The fire was strong and steady and she could no longer hear his cries. Perhaps Malfoy had accepted that resistance was futile. She held vigil by his gravesite waiting for him to emerge anew. Suddenly, the scorched earth began shifting just as her knees went numb. The earth ached and groaned. The movement became more defined and something began to crawl out.

She stared as Malfoy clawed his way to the surface. He tore at his dirt packed womb in frantic delight. His white hair was the first thing to emerge. Malfoy continued to pull himself out of the hole with cracked fingers that bled when he pushed his body upward. Hermione did not assist him. This journey was his alone. Finally, Malfoy’s grimy body was almost in full view. He pulled himself up on the edge of his grave as though it were a ledge. His body was tight with unstretched anxiety yet he sat perfectly erect as though any sound, even a hummingbird’s whistle would have him tearing through the forest like a bull.

Hermione wisely did not move; he was too still to be disturbed although she felt a small pinching pain in her side. She imagined it was some side effect from kneeling for so long. She ignored and remained still. Likewise, Malfoy didn't speak for several minutes as the silent forest entrapped the pair in a burning cocoon. Just as Hermione began to twitch nervously, Malfoy turned to stare directly into her eyes. She stared back with heated intensity and a soundless conversation passed between them. They shared this ritualistic trauma together-a connection forged in earth and fire... a battle tested bond hammered in blood.

Before Hermione could fully come to terms with such a shift in their relationship, he calmly rubbed away some of the soot and grime covering his body and thus breaking their silent dialogue. He stood up and faced her. She rose from her bowed position...ready to meet him where he was. Hermione noted in passing that the pain her side did not ebb as she stood and stretched.

She did not notice their bodies had gravitated towards each other until she felt the toe of her shoe hit his bare feet. Hermione looked up into his face not registering that the majority of his clothing had been burned off leaving him nude. He put a steadying hand on the side of her neck and she did not interfere. The dirt clumped on his fine eyelashes and she wiped it away. Silence continued as he turned and led the way back to the pathway. She blushed privately as she quickly conjured him a simple outfit to hide his bare buttocks walking steadily away from her.

Malfoy had begun walking back towards the path they’d strayed from to make camp, when he swung around. “I guess you’re just as pure as I imagined then.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione quirked an eyebrow having forgotten the original caveat of the ritual.

He smirked before turning around, “Remember Granger? That ritual would start poisoning anyone with even a speck of dust on their soul. Guess you are our _Golden Girl_ afterall.”

With a furrowed brow, Hermione did not respond even as Malfoy continued to walk calmly onward. That side pain was starting to grow from a dull ache to something sharper. With shaking fingers, Hermione pulled up her shirt’s hem and twisted painfully to inspect her body. A dark bruise was blooming before her eyes like an old fashioned telly that slowly tunneled from complete darkness to bright, moving pictures. As she examined her side, she saw smaller black and blue marks rise to her skin’s surface. She yanked her shirt back down and righted herself.

_What had Malfoy said before?_

His words came charging back like an avenging spirit, “_Only a truly pure soul can cleanse a defiled one. You’ll be devoured by the same scourge that has taken me if you aren’t completely untainted, albeit significantly more slowly_.”

_**Oh.** right._

................................................................

They reached the edge of the forest more quickly than she expected even with her belly and sides stinging with growing furiosity. The edge of the forest and the beginning of the brick walled town were separated by a vast river that ran sluggishly downstream. The river was buffeted on both sides by thick waves of desert sand that felt oddly familiar as if it were something she’d studied in a history book. She stopped just short of the sand dunes as her mind chugged doggedly to recall where she’d seen this terrain before. As she filed through her mental memory book, suddenly ravaged ruins danced to the top of her mind. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle the dawning realization.

The whole scene had been cut and pasted from places on earth! The familiar desert landscape reminded her of the sands engulfing the University of Timbuktu and the river...the river was a facsimile of the Nile. Hermione turned her head ever so slightly to catch the expression on Malfoy’s face. She wondered if he’d known all this was here but by the set of his shoulders, she knew that he hadn’t. Malfoy crystalline eyes were wide with wonder and imminent discovery. Their grinning faces met and something inside Hermione’s caged heart slipped out. She quickly turned away from him and fiddled with the buttons on her shirt.This too...they were experiencing together.

Malfoy seemed ready to speak just as sounds sashayed towards them as though ready to usher them into a smoke filled room where any desire could be fulfilled. Malfoy leaned into the sound, ready to let it take him away; Hermione grasped his shirt to keep him grounded. Immediately after, the sounds came calling to her hungrily...delicately and she felt her body swaying towards the music and finally listened to it closely. The beginnings of clinging flutes and taciturn harpsichords sang across the wide expanse between the walled village and her two ears. The melody was raspy and purring as though sore from calling Malfoy and herself forth. The music settled around her shoulders like a warm scarf promising comforting kisses and eternal rest. Although as the music burrowed into her, it began to feel heavier, thicker, and bleaker. Wildly she wondered if it was really a shackle about her neck and to shake the panic off her, she reached for a change of subject.

“How can I still use magic on the far shore?” The question was out of sync with the reverential moment but fear was beating her from the inside.

“ Magic is an essential part of you. It’s in your bones and blood.” Malfoy whispered to her as he took a hesitant step away from the magical forest and into this new ecosystem. As he passed, he shivered slightly as if passing from a very warm room into a chilled bath. She followed him and the feeling of dagger shaped ice stabbed at her sore skin.

“Did you just admit my right to magic, a muggleborn?” Hermione responded distractedly; the music and her aching body were really taking a toll.

“Of course I didn’t, because I’m still the raging bully you met in grade school,” he drawled as he typically did but his voice wavered more than he meant for her to hear. Hermione stared down at her shoes for once at a loss for what to say; she’d walked into that one. She felt oddly bereft with her shoes sinking into loose sand. If the forest was gauntlet, this beach was a prison built with human bones. Seeming to sense her cresting mood, Malfoy put a steadying hand on her shoulder as he led the way to the murky water that was still tens of kilometres away.

“That was uncalled for.”

Malfoy blew air through his mouth, “It was.”

“Forget it Mal-” Hermione had raised her hand to swipe away his apology, however just as she began to make the sweeping motion a new, more clawing ache cut through the skin under her arm. The blight was spreading. Hermione had managed to hide her affliction from her traveling companion; she had no logical reason to keep her own impending defilement a secret and yet the way his upper lip had quirked just so as he stood in awe of her purity had done something to her spirit even as her spirit wailed in pain. His barely there smile and his lilting, hopeful voice had given her something that she’d thought was lost...gratification. Fulfillment.

The bitten expression souring his genteel face told her all she needed to know. Unlike her sweet, oblivious boys, Malfoy was very quick on the uptake. Before she could begin to placate him, Malfoy had reached across her chest grasping both sides of her button down before wrenching the shirt apart sending pearl blouse buttons flying. Hermione screwed up her face before shrilly shrieking at him about consent and covering her chest with her arms. Malfoy did not respond nor did he even flinch as he slapped her hands away, clenching them in his grip and inspecting her thoroughly. Against her better judgement, her curious eyes followed suit. Hermione gasped as the handful of bruises had spread across her belly, sides, chest and arm pits. If she had pulled at her waistband, she knew they’d be there too. Hermione snapped out of her trance and pulled her hands out of his before slapping his cheek and wandlessly redressing.

“How dare you!”

His voice was soft like odorless, poisoned gas. “How dare I?” Malfoy laughed coldly before staking her with his frozen eyes. “Your ability to escape personal culpability is astounding. Good on you, Granger.”

“Do not turn this around on me. I did what I had to do to save you!” Hermione stomped her foot hard but held back a grimace as it did more damage to her body than it did to prove her point.

“Ahh yes. Everyone calls Potter the Man-Who-Vanquished but they’re all idiots. Absolutely no one can compare to our real savior, Queen Granger….no, _Saint Hermione_. Because you're bloody perfect right? No one can censure She- Who- Stuck-Her- Nose-Where-No-Asked-Her- To.” He smirked at her as his eyes appraised her only to find her irretrievably lacking, a nothing. “Although you aren’t much of a saint after all. I guess you’ll just have to wallow in the muck with the rest of us.”

Malfoy’s words were now the opposite of his previous praises of her purity; the pride he’d kindled in her soul shrivelled just as she knew it would when he finally found out about her affliction and moral failure. Hermione’s tongue felt dry as she hissed out a reply that she knew was out of bounds as soon as it ricocheted out of her mouth, “I’m nothing like you Draco.” She spoke his first name like a curse and she saw his brows jump in anticipatory fright. “I’d never stoop so low as to selfishly take the easy way out then expect other people to rescue me when things got tough, but I guess that’s what you’re really known for too.”

Hemione knew suicide was an affliction, a last resort to end suffering, a person’s loneliest, most agonizing moment. The subject was so deeply personal and spiritually painful to be brought up as an argumentative retort and yet, she’d done it anyway. His tongue lashing had cut so deeply because he’d torn her down to nothing just when she was starting to pull the slices of herself back together again. When he’d spoken he was the second year brat ushering her into the world’s racism and hate; when he’d spoken, his words had thrown her into the mud and labelled her an insect and she’d decided to reply in kind. She’d broached the subject that had been running through her mind at every turn, the subject that had been bothering her since she’d first heard of his death, the subject that had brought her to his side. And she’d done it in the most despicable way.

Malfoy pulled his lips between his teeth whilst curving his head to side as if seeing her for the first time. Hermione’s breath was coming out in short puffs as she scrambled to find a way to bludgeon her nasty words to powder. A simple apology was the least she could come up with. She decided such a brainless amends was fitting somehow: her disgusting comments didn’t deserve a dainty expression of regret. “I-Malf- I...Malfoy, I’m sorry. That was a horrid thing to say. Truly. Forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” His curious gaze morphed into something ugly. “I won’t.” He looked at her with a look that was somehow meaner than hate. He turned away from her as he drug his fingers through his wild hair. Hermione took a step towards him reaching out a hand to touch… to do something but at the last moment, she let it drop.

“Please, forgive me.” Now that she no longer had to hide, the weight of her injuries toppled her and she fell to her knees. He turned back and looked down at her with more intensity than she’d ever seen. If anyone had witnessed her kneeling prostrate before him, they would have sworn that she was pleading with her executioner before he swung the killing axe.

“Do not apologize to me again. It doesn’t suit you.” He stared down at her but did not lift a hand when he whispered, “Get up witch.”

“I need to make this right. It was wrong.” She stood as commanded but held her hands tightly clasped together as though praying to a spiteful god.

“Just when I had an ounce of respect for you, you decided to be Saint Hermione again. How can I ever get on equal ground with you when you go and do that?” At the look on her face, Malfoy sniggered. “Listen, what you said was pretty nasty. It was probably in the top ten of nastiest comments ever said directly to my face although we both know worse was said behind my back. You don’t get to be a Death Eater by braiding daisies into your comrades’ hair.”

Hermione moved to interject but Malfoy speared her with a warning gaze and, surprising even herself, she stopped. He continued with a maliciously happy glint in his eye.“Didn’t it feel good to finally get that out? To finally admit that getting stuck here because of me and my scheming family is complete rubbish? You’ve been holding back your rightful feelings and worries since day one. You say I don’t give you any answers but we both know that if you really wanted to know what was going on, you’d find a way to get me to talk. You’ve been feeling sorry for me and I detest pity.”

“So what was this all about then? Why’d you act like you were upset just now since you so clearly aren’t? You said you wouldn’t forgive me,” her voice was rickety and frail to her own ears as her final complaint was spoken aloud.

“Because I can’t Hermione,” his body seemed to be trembling as if it were attempting to hold this next comment inside so no one could ever hear it, “In what world can I, Death Eater sentenced to eternal punishment, ever have the right to accept forgiveness from you? The one person who I most certainly don’t deserve to hav--- to accept help from.”

“If you expect me to believe you’re feeling humble towards me after how you ribbed me for not being ‘pure’...”

“It was just that. A ribbing,” he scoffed, “Is that what this is about? Of course you’re fucking pure. Purer than any pureblood that’s ever lived. You saved me from a fate worse than death even though you knew it could kill you too. A few sores and bruises doesn’t change that.”

“But you said if I was afflicted I was-”

He rudely cut her off again, “Again, I’m not an expert on all things mystical. I just have impressions about what happens here. I’m not a Purgatory Tour Guide....I’m going to assume if you’re afflicted then only a newborn demi-god could have walked away from that ritual unscathed.” Despite still feeling like a right arse for what she’d said, Hermione’s chest felt unburdened and even a little light.

“I honestly can’t believe that you and I were able to handle a conflict like adults. I was sure we’d be stomping off in two different directions and ultimately falling into even more trouble.”

Malfoy yet again started leading back on their journey but with a subdued pace. She followed him as best she could with her bruises. “Shocking isn’t it?”

“A little.”

Changing the subject, Malfoy asked, “So what was your plan anyway? Follow me to town and then drop dead without a word? When this whole scheme was a way for me to finally help you? You little martyr. You can’t let anyone show you up?”

Hermione finally felt a bit more like herself when she slyly revealed her true plan, “You told me that you wouldn’t be able to pass into the barrier separating this world from town because your defilement was too far along.”

“Your point?”

“I have bruises, but your body was covered in open sores. Like you said, my affliction will take a much longer time to progress into full defilement.”

“So if we hurry, you can still cross over into town before your condition worsens?” His genuine excitement at her safe passage without a thought for himself made her feel hot and unbalanced.

“We can cross over. I have no intentions of letting you play hero. I’ll find a way to get you inside. We’ve been lucky so far that your Indrik has been oddly silent since that earlier episode in the forest which you still haven’t fully explained. I’m not letting you go until I get answers.” Hermione expected a snappy response or even a sarcastic retort, but to her surprise, Malfoy looked haunted and broken like he did when she’d first found him. His skin was pallid and colorless. He ducked his head and did not immediately reply.

“I used to envy you. Now I feel sorry for you.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’ve already accepted that I’m chained to the lowest circle of hell no matter how persistently clever you are...no matter what my mother thinks. But you...you won’t leave well enough alone. You won’t let me be the good guy and shield you.” Malfoy closed his eyes momentarily as if protecting himself from what he’d say next, although he continued to wade through the sand without missing a step or losing his footing. “You have no idea what’s really happening here, but you’re just nosy enough to find out. And when you do, it’ll probably rip your soul apart.”

....................................................................

They had walked through open desert sands for what felt like hours. The same timeless light illuminating their path forward. Throughout the journey, Hermione felt off kilter at the ominous admission Malfoy had shared before. He knew so much more than he let on but every second in his presence only darkened her understanding of the powers at play around her. She felt even more confused and scared than ever before. With her thoughts churning, she almost missed her arrival at the water’s edge. When she took in the scene before her, fresh apprehension bubbled up in her heart.

The river’s embankment was blanketed in bleached white sand, willowy pampas grass, and countless swaying souls. The souls had not noticed them yet and Hermione wanted to keep it that way. Hermione had been leading the charge towards the new terrain so she immediately stopped and swivelled her arm across Malfoy’s chest in a halting gesture. He still managed to bump into her back while simultaneously steadying her by pulling at her shoulders. Malfoy opened his mouth to object, but Hermione put a finger to her lips and gestured towards the crowded area. Malfoy nodded and pushed her down to the ground before following suit. They were now covered by thick brush and bush which allowed them to survey the scene in privacy.

The souls seemed to be aimlessly drifting about the area in parties of two and three. Their mostly transparent bodies mimicked Moaning Myrtle’s and Nearly Headless Nick’s. However, they were significantly less animated than Hermione’s previous dead acquaintances. They resembled wind up toys that only were capable of moving so far before their stilted bodies gave out toy train cars that went on in an endless loop on a previously erected track. An invisible lever seemed to pull them out of their stations before yanking them back to their starting point once they’d reach the end of their track. The scene repeated over and over as she and Malfoy spied on them.

Malfoy’s warm breath kissed her ear and Hermione began inching away but Malfoy gripped her arm to keep her in place. “I’m going to chuck a rock at one of those spirits down there. I need to check something, so don’t move.”

“Check wh-”Malfoy clasped a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. Incensed at his liberties, Hermione bit the inside of his palm. The hand, unlike her expectations, did not fall away but gripped at her face with more force, though not nearly enough to bruise.

“Careful Granger.” Malfoy said through gritted teeth while simultaneously letting go of her arm in order to grab a rock. He then swung the rock above her head chucking it towards the spirits. The rock landed with a hard thunk into the sand but did not appear to disturb the souls in any fashion. The spirits did not stop their mindless flying back and forth even as the rock passed through the barely visible ankle of one of the souls.

“They aren’t truly aware. I don’t know what dimensional plane they are on, but it's not this one.” Malfoy seemed thoroughly pleased with himself which Hermione had to admit was a long time coming. He seemed to be making plans in his head for their next move, forgetting that his hand was still on her mouth. Hermione bit him again. Hard.

Malfoy pulled back his hand and waved it about as if to air out the sting. “If biting is your love language, you might have told me. I have no particular objections, however advanced disclosure is common courtesy.”

“Just get a move on.” She hissed before taking off at a run towards the river. Her face was hot and the feel of his warm breath still kissed her outer ear. She needed to get into town as soon as humanly possible. She could hear Malfoy swearing behind her as he ran to catch up.

“Sit down. I threw a rock. That doesn’t mean we’re ready to just storm the beach you raging gryffindor!”

Hermione ignored him as she raced towards the river, ready to be done with all of this. Luckily she walked right across the torso of a particularly morose looking soul with no acknowledgment from the spirit or undue side effects. In her brighter mind she knew she was being foolish but something ticklish and tight was attacking her senses. Hermione knew it was Malfoy: his warm skin and teasing words. She didn’t appreciate it in the slightest. Getting to town was more important than even healing her wounds.

Her feet stopped just at the edge of the river. She’d barely realized she’d made it across the sandy expanse until that moment. Malfoy’s arm swung past her own as he slowed his body to stand beside her. “I have finally concluded my investigation into your house sorting.”

Hermione bit back a response and instead decided to grab another errant rock to test the depths of the river. It slowly disappeared; she did not hear it hit the river bottom. This water was slow moving but very deep. She wasn’t the best swimmer; she was a winter girl if there ever was one but she shook her head in determination. Safety for both of them was on the other side of the river. She’d be damned if it stopped her especially as she felt her injuries grow more painful. If she didn’t get to town before she was fully defiled, all her sacrifices to come here and Malfoy’s life would be lost.

She took a cautious step into the water finding it cool to the touch. Malfoy looked at her with unmasked derision but did not impede her exploration. She slowly pushed her body down into the river before beckoning her companion to follow her. She waited for him to reach her before beginning to wade into the water until it reached her waist. Hermione put her hands in front of her in a diving motion before sailing into the deeper water like a fastidious dolphin. She heard rather than felt Malfoy follow her. When she came up for air, she held back a sneer of her own. Her movements were jerky and unsure but one glance at Malfoy revealed a true swimmer’s grace. He moved in such sync with the river that even his breaths matched his strokes allowing him to swim with an ease that Hermione could not mimic. He soon glided past her, getting very close to the center of the river. She sped up attempting to overtake him in her own twitchy stroke.

Try as she might, she was unable to reach him, still a few paces behind. Just as he’d reached the invisible halfway point, he froze before seizing terribly. Hermione, closer now, grabbed onto his leg, pulling him backwards and towards her. When he was finally next to her, she turned towards him with a curious eye. “What just happened?”

The river water had slicked his hair back in his grade school style with water droplets misting down his face in this most optimally attractive way. However, his eyes were wide with shock and some pain. “I can’t say. When I tried to swim past the center, it felt like a lightning bolt struck me. I couldn’t control my body.”

“You should swim back to shore until I can make sure the path is safe. Sounds like an eel or some other creature. What it’s doing in the river, I couldn’t say.”

“Aren’t you coming with me, Brightest Witch?”

“I need to try to cross.” Hermione couldn’t say that her bruises had begun cracking into open, sting sores. He couldn’t know how bad it had gotten; she figured he had enough to worry about. Ron. Harry. And even Malfoy. They needed her to be safe, but she was determined to bring Malfoy back with her but she couldn’t do that if she died before getting them both to town and out of this god forsaken purgatory.

“Absolutely not. It wasn’t an animal. It was magic. Something wouldn’t let me cross and the same thing will happen to you except you might drown. You’re a shite swimmer.”

“When have you ever cared about what happens to me? I’m going to try.” She pushed off him and hurled herself back into the water. She’d been spiteful but she knew he’d be too stunned to stop her.

“We are in this together, Granger. I know what you’re trying to do!” he yelled. Hermione almost stopped. Almost turned back. But, the sting of pain spurred her onward.

“I’ll come back for you, Malfoy. I made a promise and I am going to keep it, but one of us has to be brave and do this.”

“Maybe if you’d give someone else a bloody chance, it could be me sacrificing for you.” Hermione knew that Malfoy was probably right. She should let him figure this out, let him finally have a moment of dignity, but she couldn't. She hadn’t been useful in a long time. She had to do this. Hermione just wanted to save the world one last time no matter what it cost her.

Hermione’s fingers pushed forward and she knew she was almost at the midpoint. Just as her hand crossed the invisible barrier, she felt not only lightning strike sizzle down her spine, but also a heavy thunk on the head. She grabbed her head in pain as she looked up towards her assailant. Her eyes grew impossibly wide as a shimmering, floating woman, resplendent in a dark, billowing cloak, wielded an oar that was dangerously close to Hermione’s head. The woman, who looked oddly familiar whilst still retaining her otherworldly glow, raised the oar once again. Right before the wooden weapon came crashing back down on Hermione’s pounding head, Hermione noticed that the woman wasn’t actually floating but standing on tiptoe aboard a small canoe.

“Charon,” Hermione realized just as her world went black from another blow.

Hermione wasn’t entirely sure, but she believed she’d heard Malfoy’s voice thick with longing and ache wrench out one name: “Astoria!” right as consciousness slipped out from under Hermione’s grasp.  
...........................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry its been a long time. I have alot of this story planned out except this in between chapter. Its that weird bridge between the beginning of a plot and the climax. I definitely struggled with this one and I'm not 100% happy with it. I may re-do it. Please forgive any spelling errors. I promise I know my grammar even if it doesn't seem like it.


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